


The Many Faces of Harry Potter

by FalconLux



Series: W.I.P. Collection [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Canon Divergence after Sorcerer's Stone, Evil AU Harrys, Gen, Gryffindor Harry, Increasingly Dark Harry, Magical Animagus Form, May Eventually Include Elements of Slash and Het, Mentions of Murder, Mentions of Rape, Powerful Harry, Ravenclaw Harry, Slytherin Harry, Tags May Change, Work In Progress, rating may increase, slight ron bashing, unfinished work
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-05
Updated: 2016-02-06
Packaged: 2018-05-18 10:16:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 38,996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5924716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FalconLux/pseuds/FalconLux
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Welcome to the first Interdimensional Harry Potter Meeting!” </p><p>Harry wakes to find himself surrounded by seven other, very different Harry Potters. He’s about to learn more about himself than he ever wanted to know.  </p><p>Premise: I’ve read many stories in which Harry’s life takes a turn at some point along the way and he becomes a completely different kind of person. This story explores several of those while focusing on Harry as he was in canon at the culmination of the 1st book. What if JK’s Harry Potter were to discover prior to 2nd year exactly what his own potential could truly be? What if he had found unconditional acceptance and support to guide him on paths he’d never imagined? What if, at the tender age of 12, he had discovered unrestricted access to a deep well of information Dumbledore had never meant for him to have?  I give you The Harry Potter Self-Help Group…</p><p>WARNING: This is a Work In Progress.  It is not finished, nor may it ever be finished.  It is presently at around 35,000 words.  I will post what I have written and add more if/when I write it.  READ AT YOUR OWN RISK.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The First Interdimensional Harry Potter Meeting

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own Harry Potter, nor do I make any money from this work of fiction.

**1 August 1992**

Harry woke to the sound of many overlapping voices.  He sat up cautiously, fixing his glasses to his nose, and gaped at what he saw.  First, he was in a room that he’d never seen before.  It was big, made of stone, round with stained glass windows and torches on the walls.

“What the hell?” he breathed as he focused on the other occupants of the room, scampering to his feet as he did.  There were seven other people in the room.  They were all boys his age, but upon closer examination…

“Welcome!” called one of the boys.  He was one of the tallest of the bunch, with black hair all the way down his back.  He didn’t wear glasses.  He was wearing fancy black robes.  Actually, he was the only one not in some kind of pajamas.  Once everyone stopped talking and looked at him, he smiled warmly.

Harry’s jaw dropped when he finally recognized the boy.  With long hair, no glasses, and just the way he held himself – plus he was too tall – it was easy to miss at first, but there was no doubt now that Harry was _really_ looking at him.  That boy was… _him_!

“Welcome, everyone, to the first Interdimensional Harry Potter meeting.”

Harry stared at him in disbelief for a long moment before the shuffling and muttering around him finally drew his eyes to the other occupants in the room.  He realized now that they were _all_ Harry Potter.

“Interdimensional?” one Harry Potter inquired.  He was wearing nice but simple blue pajamas.  “Are you suggesting that each of us is from a different dimension?”

“Five points to Ravenclaw!” the host Harry congratulated.

_Ravenclaw?_

The boy who’d been awarded points blushed and looked a little self-conscious.

“Now, before we get into explanations, let’s get settled.”  The host gestured to eight chairs placed in a circle in the center of the room, and sat down in one of them himself.

After a little confusion, everyone managed to find a seat.  “Now, first,” the host smiled, “we’re all, obviously, Harry Potter, each from a different dimension, as our Ravenclaw member postulated.  We’re all the same person, though we’ve grown up in different ways, and that has shaped our personalities to be somewhat different.  I’d like to request that we don’t judge each other based on upbringing.  Fair enough?”

He waited a moment while everyone cautiously nodded agreement.

“Splendid.  So, I’ll go first.  My birth parents were killed by Lord Voldemort when I was fifteen months old.  I believe that’s the same for all of us?”

Harry nodded, glancing around to see that everyone else did as well.

“At that point, I was taken in by Lord Voldemort.  He raised me.”

Harry gaped along with most of the others.  _Raised_ by Voldemort?!

The host chuckled, “I see that most of you are alarmed.  I understand there are some mixed feelings about Voldemort in this room.  But to me, he’s my father, and he’s always been a good one.”

“But he killed our parents!” a boy in red silk pajamas argued.

The host shrugged, “It’s a war, gentlemen.  Our parents and my father were on opposite sides.  People die.  That’s just what happens.  In my world, Voldemort has striven for the last eleven years to make that up to me.  Now, please remember that we agreed not to judge each other. 

“Anyway, quick version of my life.  I was raised by Voldemort, as I said.  I’ve never really had much for friends, since most everyone is too afraid of me or my father.  The only real friend I have is Draco Malfoy, though Teddy Nott is something like a friend now.  When I was eleven, I started Hogwarts.  You probably won’t be surprised to learn that I was sorted into Slytherin.

“As to how we’re all here…  Last summer, I got really into studying dimensional theory.  My aunt Bella, who’s the closest thing to a mother that I have, was the one who got me interested in it.  For my last birthday, I asked my father if he could show me what other Harry Potter’s are like.  He, of course, granted my wish.  He always gives me what I want,” he smiled in a fond way that made Harry’s heart ache a bit.  He’d never had anyone like that.  It was disturbing to think the boy was talking about Voldemort, but…  If the man really loved him…  And Voldemort had to be as different in that other world as Harry Potter was because Harry was sure that the Voldemort in his own world wasn’t even capable of love.

“I was astounded when I’d seen each of you and how incredibly different your lives have gone.  How very different we all were.  After a month of watching you in the mirror, I realized that none of us have easy lives.  Even me, though my father has done his best by me.  There are those such as Dumbledore who would take it all away from me if he could – and he has tried several times already in my life.  I’ve even been kidnapped by him once.”

Harry’s jaw dropped.  _Dumbledore?_   He _kidnapped_ him?

“Maybe you’d be better off with him,” the red pajama’d boy sneered.

The host shot him a chillingly cold glare and he cringed.  Harry was incredibly impressed that someone who looked so much like him could look that scary.

“As I was saying,” the host said after a moment.  “I decided that we should be helping each other.  After discussing it with Father, he came up with this,” he lifted his hands to illustrate that he was talking about the room.  “This is an extra-dimensional pocket.  With a little practice, you should all be able to bring yourselves here at will when you go to sleep at night.  It’s a place where we can learn – I’ll show you the library and practice arena later.  We can study and train together.  I wanted to bring tutors, but the nature of this place only allows Harry Potters to enter,” he shrugged.

Harry’s mind was _reeling!_   This was like… a top secret Harry Potter hideout or something!  It was _really_ cool.  If a bit weird.  But that was magic.

“Most importantly though,” the host went on, “we can talk to each other.  We can share information that the various authority figures in our assorted worlds may not wish us to know.  We can be smarter, faster, stronger, and better informed.  I have seen _too many_ Harry Potters in various universes that are _already_ dead.”

Harry felt a chill at that.

“That’s right,” the host nodded.  “I tried to bring some of us from every house, but every Hufflepuff I could find was already dead.  So, we’ve got two Ravenclaws,” he pointed to the one in blue pajamas that had first understood what interdimensional meant, and another boy next to him who was wearing black and blue sleep pants and no shirt.  “Three Gryffindors,” he pointed to the boy in the red silk pajamas, and another boy in…  Actually, he was wearing the exact same ratty, oversized shirt and sweats that Harry was wearing.  And then, of course, Harry himself.  “And three Slytherins.”  That was the host, a boy in black silk pajamas, and a boy in emerald sleep pants. 

“I’m going to see if I can find a few more to pull in, but you’re what I could manage to start.  Now, why don’t we go around and we can each explain what happened between All Hallows Eve 1981, and the present.  You first,” he nodded to the blue pajama’d Ravenclaw.  Like the host, he didn’t wear glasses.  “We’ll call you Raven.”

The boy smiled slightly at the nickname.  “All right.  Well, I grew up with Augusta and Neville Longbottom, since Alice, my godmother, was,” he grimaced faintly, “tortured into insanity at the end of the war.  Obviously, I was sorted into Ravenclaw with my godbrother, Neville.”

“Neville’s a Ravenclaw?” the red pajama’d Gryffindor gaped.

“Of course,” Raven blinked. 

Harry’s mind was still stuck on the godbrother part.  Was that true in his world?  It seemed like it couldn’t be because he’d been sent to the Dursleys, but if everything else had happened the same up to and including their parents’ murder, then…

“Please, go on,” the host encouraged.  “Why don’t you tell us what kind of childhood you had, and how your first year at Hogwarts went?”

Raven nodded.  “Growing up at Longbottom Manor was great.  Augusta was really supportive of Neville and me.  We had tutors for our basic instruction and introduction to magic.  Neville and I spent most of our time between the library and greenhouses.  The greenhouses are more his thing and the library’s more mine, but…” he shrugged.  “Anyway, first year was pretty good, expect for the troll that got into the school on Halloween.  Killed a muggleborn Gryffindor – Granger.”

“Hermione’s _dead_?” Harry gasped, and it was echoed by a couple others.

Raven frowned at them, “Yeah.  It was pretty shocking.  She was in one of the bathrooms when the troll found her, I guess…  I didn’t hear too much about it.  Anyway, just after Christmas, I figured out that Voldemort,” he glanced at the host apologetically, “he was possessing Quirrell, so I told Flitwick, and we told Dumbledore.  I guess the headmaster confronted him about it.  Voldemort’s spirit fled and Quirrell died.”  He shrugged, “That’s pretty much all.”

“Thank you, Raven,” the host smiled, then looked at the next Ravenclaw.  “How about we call you Claws?”

The Harry Potter in black and blue sleep pants nodded gravely.  “I don’t know how you managed to get with the Longbottoms,” he frowned at Raven, “but I was raised with the Dursleys, my muggle aunt and uncle.”

Harry grimaced in sympathy.

“Some of you know what I’m talking about,” he smirked sardonically – it was an odd look on his face.  He was one of them that wore glasses – the same ones that Harry himself wore.  “Well, they beat it into my head pretty early that I wasn’t to do better than my cousin Dudley in anything.”

Raven gaped in shock, but Claw ignored him.  “So, I figured, if they wanted me to be stupid, the best thing to do would be the opposite.  Oh, I pretended, of course, to avoid the beatings, but learning became my obsession.  Not surprisingly, I was sorted Ravenclaw when I went to Hogwarts.  I’m top of my class.  My only friend in my own house is Morag McDougal, but I’m friends with Draco and Blaise Zabini, too.  My greatest enemy at Hogwarts is Ron Weasley and his little hangers on, Finnegan and Thomas.

“Granger wasn’t killed in my world.  I don’t know why, but she was in her common room on Halloween, not the bathroom.  The troll didn’t actually hurt anyone.  I don’t really care for Dumbledore, but when I figured out who Quirrell really was – _before Christmas,_ ” he smirked at Raven, “I too went to Flitwick and Dumbledore.  They took care of him the same way, I guess.”

“Interesting,” the host smiled.  “Next…” he looked at Harry, “Let’s call you, Gryffin, yes?”

Harry nodded.  It was an acceptable nickname, and not surprising, though he wasn’t sure how they’d get two more nicknames out of the house name for the other two.

He told his story self-consciously following the two Ravenclaws.  He felt really dumb in comparison, and he hadn’t done anything cool like defying the Dursleys by learning a bunch behind their back or anything.  He did feel a little better when he came to the part about the troll.

“You _killed_ it?” Raven asked in disbelief.

“No,” Harry said quickly.  “Just knocked it out.  But Ron and I saved Hermione’s life.”

Claw sneered at him, “I can’t believe you hang out with that idiot.”

“He’s not an idiot!” Harry defended hotly.

“Please,” Claw said disdainfully, “You only like him because he befriended you on the train.  You could be so much more if you didn’t tie yourself to that moron.”

“Okay, okay, enough,” the host interrupted pleasantly.  “Remember, we’re not judging each other.  We’re here to help each other.  You’ve made your point about Weasley, Claw.  Gryffin, please go on.”

Harry glared at Claw a moment more, then focused on the others again.  “Um, we didn’t figure Quirrell out as fast.  I was pretty distracted by Quidditch and stuff.”

“You play Quidditch?” Raven asked in surprise.  “As a first year?”

Harry smiled, feeling a little better.  He explained briefly about the little fight with Malfoy that had ended with him getting on the team.  Several of the others seemed mildly impressed.  “We knew that someone was trying to steal the Stone, but we kind of thought it was Snape,” he blushed a little at remembering their mistake.  “Anyway, we figured out _when_ it was going to be stolen, so we followed him down after it.”

“Wait, what stone now?” the Gryffindor that was dressed like Harry inquired.

“The Philosopher’s Stone,” Harry explained about how Dumbledore had rescued the stone from Gringotts right before someone tried to steal it, and then hid it in the school.

“Sounds more like he was setting it up as bait than trying to protect it,” the Slytherin in emerald pants noted expressionlessly.

“I agree,” the other Slytherin nodded.  “There are a lot of ways he could have hidden it more effectively if he’d actually wanted to.”

“Or at least he could have let it seem like the stone was down there, then hidden it in his office,” the first Slytherin agreed.

They were a little creepy really.  But then, they _were_ Slytherins.  Even if they were him.  That was weird.  He tried not to think on it too much.  Nor about how close he’d come to being in Slytherin, too.

“So you went after Quirrell who you thought was Snape?” the host prompted.

Harry nodded and quickly went through what they had to do to get to it and what happened when he found Quirrell.

The host shook his head, “It’s hard to imagine father trying to kill me,” he muttered, then shrugged, “Anyway, we can talk more about that later.  Let’s move on to…  Ryff?”

The Gryffindor dressed like Harry nodded, “Yeah, whatever.  I also grew up with the Dursleys.  They were typically horrible, but I dealt with it.  I was sorted Gryffindor, of course.  My best friends are Hermione and Neville.  Draco and I aren’t really friends, but we’re certainly not enemies.  When Weasel started bullying Hermione, I realized what a berk he really was.  I went and apologized to Draco for being such a jerk on the train.  We’re on pretty cordial terms now.

“Like Gryffin here, I saved Hermione from the troll, though I did it with Neville instead of the weasel.  It was really good for Neville, facing down the troll.  He got a lot more confident after that.  He even keeps his nerve in Potions now. 

“I didn’t know anything about Quirrell.  After hearing what you all had to say about it, I think the same thing probably happened in my world, but Dumbledore must have taken care of it.  All I know is that Quirrell vanished at the end of the year,” he shrugged.

“All right,” the host moved on, looking to the boy in red pajamas. 

“You can call me Flame,” he smirked, “That’s my Marauder nickname.”

“What’s a Marauder?” Claw asked with a faint grimace like he wasn’t really sure he wanted to know the answer.

“James Potter, Sirius Black, Remus Lupin, and Peter Pettigrew were the Marauders when they went to Hogwarts,” Flames explained.  “They each had a nickname after their animagus form.  They were Prongs, Padfoot, Moony, and Wormtail respectively.  I was raised by my godfather, Sirius Black.  And let me just say, I feel really sorry for any of you raised by the Dursleys.  I’ve never met them, but Sirius does not think highly of them,” he chuckled.

Harry wondered if this Sirius had the gift for understatement or if that was Flames.  He also wondered if _he_ had godparents.  Sirius Black and Alice Longbottom…  He was going to have to try to figure that out.  Surely Dumbledore would know.  Or maybe Mr. Weasley?

“So yeah, I was sorted Gryffindor, of course, following in the footsteps of my godfather and my parents.  I grew up with pranks as a way of life, so I do a lot of them.  I’m friends with pretty much everyone in Gryffindor, though Ron, Dean, and Seamus are the closest.  Draco Malfoy and his Slytherin posse are my arch enemies.  I’m also on the Quidditch team, by the way.  Sirius came to the tryouts personally with my new Nibus 2000 and insisted that I be allowed to try.  Um…  Let’s see.  I saved Granger by myself on Halloween, and she’s been really clingy ever since.  Can’t really take a hint, you know?”

Harry glared at Flames, but kept his mouth shut since they weren’t supposed to pick on each other.  Flames just seemed like such a… jerk.  Like a Gryffindor Draco Malfoy, and that was a disturbing thought, not least because the boy was Harry Potter.

“I didn’t know anything about Quirrell either, though, like Ryff, I figure all that was probably going on when I wasn’t paying attention.  It’s kind of funny, though.  After hearing what Gryffin said about Voldemort being stuck on the back of Quirrell’s head,” he snickered.  “I once pulled a prank that made his turban keep slipping.  He _really_ panicked about it.  I guess now I know why.  Oh, and I lit it on fire once,” he chortled.  “Fire’s kind of my thing,” he winked at Harry.

“You said the Marauder nicknames were based on animagus forms,” the host noted, “Would I be correct in assuming that you are an animagus?”

Flames smirked in a self-satisfied manner, “That’s right.”

“What?!” Claw and Raven asked simultaneously, then glared at each other briefly.  Despite the fact that they were from the same House, they seemed to have vastly opposing personalities.

“You’re already an animagus?” Claw demanded.

“Sure am,” Flames chuckled.

“What form?” Raven inquired.

“All of our animagus forms will be the same,” the host provided.  “Unlike patronii, which are based on your temperament and personality and even life experiences, animagus forms are more about who you are, which is why they can’t ever change throughout your life – unlike patronii.  Our form is a Hungarian Horntail.”

“Impossible!” Raven asserted immediately.  “There hasn’t been an animagus with a magical creature form since the time of the Founders.”

The host chuckled, “Well, we’re hardly normal, are we?  I’m not sure if you’re all aware, but we are immensely powerful, if you know how to channel it.  We are, in fact, every bit as powerful as Lord Voldemort.”

“Are you sure that applies to all of us?” Ryff wondered with a combination of doubt and hope.

“Absolutely,” the host nodded.  “Like an animagus form, our magical cores are not affected by anything we may have been through in our lives.  Trust me, we are all extremely magically powerful.  Now, let’s move on.”

“Keeping with the house nicknames, I guess that makes me Slyther?” the boy in black silk pajamas reasoned, just one brow raised in a way that Harry wondered if he could pull off.  He thought it looked cool and he’d like to try it on Malfoy.

“Sounds good,” the host smiled.

“Great.  Well, I was sent to the Dursleys as well, but I don’t remember them.  I was only there two days before Aunt Bella rescued me.  I grew up with Bellatrix and Rodolphus Lestrange until I was eight.  That’s when we finally managed to track down Lord Voldemort.  About six months after we got him back into his body, he named me his heir.  We’re probably not as close as you seem to be with him,” he said to the host, “but he’s trained me a lot.  We still live with Bella and Rody.  Well, they live with us, I guess.  All the Inner Circle takes turns training me in all kinds of things.  I haven’t quite managed the animagus transformation yet, but I’m close.  Should have it within another month or two.

“I also go to Hogwarts, though no one there knows that I’m Voldemort’s heir.  Except for the children of the Death Eaters, and they’re magically bound the keep the secret.  Uncle Severus put me on the Quidditch team because he knew how good I was, but there was no troll in my first year.  Or any Quirrell.” He shrugged.  “By best friends are Draco and Theo, both of whom I’ve known as long as I can remember.”

“And that just leaves…” the host looked at the last boy in the green pants. 

“You can call me John,” the last Harry said with a dark smirk.  “It’s one of my many aliases.  I grew up with the Dursleys as well.  At least, until I was eight.  Now, I don’t normally tell people this, but I don’t suppose any of you will tell tales to anyone who matters in my world.  I was eight when the Dursleys finally pushed me passed my limit.  I killed them in their sleep and burned down the house.”

Harry – and several of the others – gaped in disbelief.  The other two Slytherins and Claw looked rather impressed.  Ryff just looked disturbingly thoughtful – like he might be considering the merits of doing the same thing.  It was rather chilling to think more than half of the Harry Potters in the room would be capable of cold-blooded murder.  Granted, it was the Dursleys, but _still_ …

“I’ve been on my own since then.  Dumbledore tried this summer to stick me with the Weasleys, of all people.  I escaped the first night.  I live mostly in the muggle world when I’m not at school, as I did before I found out about the magical one.  I’m _very_ good at disappearing when I want to, and I’m working on modifying an aging potion to use next summer.  No doubt Dumbledore’s going to be positively _stalking_ me after this latest disappearance.”  He shrugged, “I’m not worried.

“Anyway, I’m obviously Slytherin.  I don’t have any friends because I don’t need any.  Stupid, clingy little kids walking around with their chests bloody puffed out blowing smoke about the importance of their fucking fathers,” he scoffed.  “There was a troll on Halloween in my world.  Granger got killed.  I figured out what was going on with Quirrell in November.  I confronted him about it right after Christmas – told him that I knew he was possessed by Voldemort and that I wished him luck on whatever he was doing.  Really, I don’t care either way, but I’d rather not be Voldemort’s enemy as I expect he _would_ find a way to get his body back eventually no matter what I did.  We came to an arrangement in which I helped him to overcome the obstacles and retrieve the stone in exchange for a promise of neutrality between us.  We got the stone in March and I haven’t seen either of them since.”

Harry found himself looking around at the other faces in disbelief.  It was incredible to think that they were all _him_.  Had circumstances gone differently, had he made different choices, Harry could have ended up just like any of them – even the creepy “John” who seemed to think so little of murder or friends and had been on his own since he was eight.

It was also disturbing to think about everyone who _wasn’t_ in the room.  Those Hufflepuffs that the host had mentioned who’d already died.  A different choice here or there and Harry could have been like _them,_ too.

And suddenly, he didn’t care if some of them were Voldemort’s heirs or cold-blooded killers or stuck-up prats.  He completely agreed with the host.  He was going to take advantage of this, and he was going to learn everything he could about everything he could.  He wasn’t going to get killed because he didn’t know better.

“Great!” the host smiled warmly.  “Now that we all know each other a little bit, I think we better understand my purpose in drawing you here.  However, if any of you would like to opt out, tell me now and I won’t call you again.”

He waited a moment, but no one spoke up.

“Good.  As I said, this place will be open to everyone day and night – whenever you’re sleeping – but I would like to hold a meeting like this for the whole group once a week.  Shall we say, Saturday night?”

Nods came all around.

“Now, of course you can’t take anything out of here, but the library contains every book that any of us have ever read.  Considering we have two Ravenclaws and two who grew up with the Riddle and Lestrange libraries, that’s a good amount.  There’s also the practice arena.  We can work magic here exactly as in our own worlds.  I would like to hold classes on a weekly basis as well.  If anyone has a particular skill or talent that can be imparted, I would ask that you take the time to do so.  I will be offering animagus lessons every Friday night, starting at midnight.

“Oh, in case you didn’t realize, time here moves at the same rate as in our worlds, but as your bodies are resting while you are here, you will not suffer for lack of sleep by spending the entire night here, even if you do it every night.  This isn’t the same as being conscious in your mind through the night.  It’s more like Astral Projection, but because this place is keyed to our very souls, it’s natural for us to be here and not magically draining like astral projection would be normally. 

“As I realize that several of you probably know very little of the Dark Arts, I’d also like to offer a class for that.  Would you be willing to teach it, Slyther?”

The other boy considered it a moment, then nodded.  “Wednesday night?”

“ _I’m_ not learning Dark Arts,” Flames said with supreme distaste.

“That’s your prerogative,” the host said patiently.  “No one’s going to force you to do something that you don’t want to.  For anyone that isn’t pathologically opposed to the idea, I highly suggest that you attend at least the first lesson.  I’m sure Slyther can give you an unbiased explanation of the theory behind Dark Arts in general, and explain the many variations of it.  Before you immediately decide against it, you should know that it is not _inherently_ evil or even immoral, and that it will not damage your soul as some light wizards would like the world to believe.  It is just a different way to call on magic.  You won’t be expected to participate if you attend the lessons.  Even learning the theory alone could potentially save your life if you find yourself battling a dark wizard, which at least one of you already has,” he nodded to Harry.

“Okay, moving on.  Does anyone else have any particular skill to impart?  It doesn’t have to be unique; if it would benefit even two of the others, it would be worth it.”

“I can cast a patronus,” Raven suggested.

“Who else can cast a patronus?” the host posed, raising his own hand.

No one else raised their hand.

“Okay,” the hose said, “for anyone who doesn’t know, the patronus is a conjured creation of emotion and spirit, non-corporeal in form.  It takes a form based on who you are in heart, something beyond personality and straight to the core of your being.  It can change, but it doesn’t happen often.  It is used to drive off dementors and lethifolds, both highly dangerous, but fairly rare.  Trust me, if you ever run into either, you will be grateful for learning the difficult spell.  Beyond the defensive application, it can also be used to pass messages, and is secure for the fact that no two people have identical patronii, so you can verify the identity of the sender.  If anyone is interested in learning that, lessons will be…”

“Thursday night?” Raven shrugged.

“Thursday night.  Anyone else?”

“I don’t know if anyone’s interested,” John put in carelessly, “but I could teach about the muggle world and how to disappear there.”

“That sounds highly practical,” the host said approvingly.  “Anyone interested?”

Harry hesitated a moment before raising his hand.  He was muggle raised, but the Dursleys had kept him so secluded from the world at large that he didn’t think he’d last a week alone in the muggle world.  Considering the way his life seemed to go, that might come in handy.  Particularly if Dumbledore turned out to be as dangerous as the Slytherins seemed to think.  Harry didn’t know the man well enough to judge.  He’d thought him to be pretty nice, but…  He was oddly inclined to trust these other versions of himself, if not necessarily agree with their perspectives.  It was enough that he would be cautious of the man from now on.

The host raised his hand, as did Raven, Claw, Slyther, and Flames.  After a moment, Ryff raised his hand as well.

“Monday night,” John said succinctly.

Harry hated it that he had no special skills to contribute.  Though they were all, supposedly, just as intelligent and powerful, he couldn’t help but feel like an idiot in this group.  Well, at least he felt superior to that prat, Flames, but even Flames had him outmatched when it came to magic.  He was an _animagus_!  At 11!

Harry decided then that he was going to attend every one of those classes – though he wouldn’t participate in the Dark Arts stuff if he had any doubt about it being evil or wrong.  After what the host had said, maybe it wasn’t as bad as everyone made it out to be.

Then again, maybe the host was as evil as John.  Either way, he’d listen to the theory and decide for himself.  Hearing about all the decisions that these other Harry Potters had made that had shaped their lives and the lives of those around them, Harry was really starting to like the idea of making his own choices instead of just listening to what everyone else told him.

“Anyone else have a special skill?” the host prompted.

“I can cast the disillusionment charm,” Claw offered.

“Good,” the host looked impressed.  “For anyone who doesn’t know that charm, it basically makes the recipient something like a very, very skilled chameleon.  It changes the color of your body and clothes very rapidly to match your surroundings.  Or rather, it creates an illusion of that effect to anyone looking at you.  It’s not as good as the Invisibility Cloak that I think we all have…?”  He glanced around and got no dissent, so he nodded.  “But it is very useful for using when you don’t have the cloak or if you need to take someone with you and would rather not squish under the cloak with them.  There’s a lot of practical applications.  Is anyone interested?”

Harry raised his hand along with everyone except the host and Slyther, who must have already known it.

“Tuesday?”

Claw nodded.

“All right, if you will all turn your attention to the wall there,” he pointed behind Harry, who turned with everyone else to find a notice board with several parchments hanging on it.  “There will be a nightly schedule posted there at all times, so if you want to offer a new lesson, you can write it into an open slot.  If anyone wants to sign up for a lesson you can put your name down for it, though we won’t be really strict about attendance.  It’s completely voluntary, but if you’re serious about learning something, you should try to show up to every lesson so you don’t fall behind or hold back the class.  Also, it will be good for the prospective teachers to know if anyone is interested or if they shouldn’t bother.

“If you have any questions to pose to the group, you can put them on the board.  If you would check it every time you come and answer any questions you could, that would be helpful between our monthly meetings.  Try to remember, everyone, that there is as much opportunity to receive help in this group as to give it.  We are here for our own benefit as much as anyone else’s.  Give the best you can and you will receive in return.

“Now, if you’ll all stand, I’ll give you a tour and then we can each go our own way.”

The next hour was spent with the host, who said to call him Riddle, as his surname was Potter-Riddle, showing them around what turned out to be a rather large sort of building.  A hall leading away from the meeting room opened into the library, which he said would automatically expand as any of them read a new book.  Harry could hardly believe that the eight of them had read so many books.  There had to be more than a thousand in that library, and they were only just barely twelve years old!

Riddle showed them how to navigate the library, and pointed out the rooms on the second floor level that overlooked the library and were connected by a balcony.  There were eight in total, a private office and sitting area for each of them, apparently – which was, admittedly, pretty cool.

A corridor off the side of the library led to the training arena, which was a massive room.  One side was set up for practical magic training with targets and plenty of room to cast spells.  The other side was lined with blackboards, tables, and extra chairs.  Presumably for the theoretical portion of the lessons.

“Now, as I said, you can’t take anything out of this place, but you can write things down and keep them here.  This room is stocked with plenty of parchment, quills, and ink, as are your personal offices.  There are also blank journals for your personal records.

“Oh, before I forget, I’ll also be teaching Occlumency on Sunday nights.  That is the study of organizing your mind.  It is an extremely powerful art that requires a lot of willpower and mental discipline, but virtually no applied magic.  If you have not already mastered this skill, I implore you to learn it.  It is one of the most valuable things you will ever learn.  It helps with memory retention, cognition, concentration, and it helps to control your emotions.  Additionally, and this is what it’s famous for, it allows you to prevent anyone from entering your mind and reading your thoughts or accessing your memories.  If you didn’t know, Dumbledore, Severus Snape, and Voldemort are all master Legilimens – that’s the mind art of entering someone else’s mind.  If you don’t know Occlumency, I am willing to bet at least one of these individuals have read your thoughts at one point.”

Harry shivered at the idea of Snape in his mind.  Or Voldemort.  Would Dumbledore do that…?  It was scary that he wasn’t sure.  He would definitely be learning this.

“Additionally, if you become skilled enough in Occlumency, you will be able to reach this place while you are awake and still retaining cognition of your world.  Which would be dead useful if you’re taking a test and want to take a peek at the text…” he waggled his eyebrows and Harry laughed along with some of the others.

This was decidedly strange, but Harry had gotten used to strange things since entering the magical world.  It was altogether a strange sort of place.

The next room they were shown was cavernous – like the size of a Quidditch pitch – and completely empty.

“This room is just for practicing our animagus forms.  As anyone who knows anything about a Hungarian Horntail will know, they’re quite large, though ours are still young adolescent in size.  You’ll have to practice in your own worlds if you want real flight experience, but this area is large enough to get off the ground and move around some in order to learn the basics.

“Now, since our bodies aren’t actually here, there’s no need for food or bathroom facilities.  If you have those needs, you’ll have to leave here to attend to them.  All right, I think that’s all I have to say for now.  You can leave if you wish, or you may want to stay and explore or get to know each other.

“I hope that you all take advantage of this opportunity.  Whatever you decide to do with your lives, I would like Harry Potter to be someone to be reckoned with in every dimension we can reach.”  With a parting nod, he headed for back into the library.

Harry found his office first.  It was larger than he’d expected, with an impressive marble-top desk, extra chairs in front of the desk for visitors, and walls lined with bookshelves.  He quickly found that the only books in his office at the moment were those he’d personally read.  It was… depressingly sparse. 

After sitting behind the desk for a few minutes, Harry found one of the blank journals and a quill that seemed to be self-inking.  He wasn’t generally that big on writing, but if he had ever had a reason to write in a journal, this seemed to be it.  And if he was being honest with himself, he could use the practice.  He’d never quite figured out the trick to writing with a quill.

The first thing he did was write a short entry about each of the other versions of himself that he’d met here.  He wrote down the small physical differences that he’d noticed.  Like the fact that Raven, Flames, Slyther, and Riddle didn’t wear glasses.  Only the versions of himself that had been raised in the wizarding world didn’t wear glasses.  Was there a magical way to fix eyesight?  He made a note to ask one of the others about it, or even Hermione when he got back to school.  If it was possible, he wanted to do it.  Even if it was expensive, he could afford it.

When he was done with that, he decided to go to the library.  He’d never been much for reading if he didn’t have to, but honestly, he’d never really tried it.  The Dursleys’ rule to be dumber than Dudley – an impossibility, by the way – had made him completely apathetic when it came to his primary school.  He didn’t see the point in bothering to learn what he wasn’t allowed to apply.  He wasn’t sure if he wanted to start acting like a Ravenclaw, but maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to do some extra reading.  Maybe he wouldn’t feel like such an idiot compared to the others, at least. 

It was pretty bad when you felt like an idiot compared to _yourself_.  It really did seem like he was _way_ below his potential.  Well, that was going to change.  He could be as good as any of them.  For once in his life, he couldn’t write off his inferiority as the simple fact that he _was_ inferior.  There was no reason that he couldn’t be as good as any of the others at anything and everything.


	2. Confliction

**19 August 1992**

Harry stubbornly refused to hate Ron just because every other Harry Potter he’d met seemed to hate him – besides Flames, which was _not_ an endorsement.  Despite that, he couldn’t help but notice how much cooler his relationship with the youngest Weasley boy became while he spent almost half the summer with the family.  Harry’s newfound dedication to be other than an ignorant child was decidedly at odds with Ron’s desire to not even think about anything in any way related to school during the summer.

Ron whinged constantly about Harry’s determination to get his summer homework done as soon as possible until Harry finally snapped at him that there were things in life that were more important than having fun, and that Ron needed to grow up and realize that.  He felt terrible immediately, but the damage was done.  With a highly affronted look on his face, Ron stormed off before Harry could decide if he should apologize or not.  He _had_ been rather rude to say it in that way, but he did believe that he was entirely right.

The world was a scary damn place, and he was now intimately aware of just how helpless he’d be in a fight against someone older than him – like Death Eaters or their toadying children in Slytherin – and a few in Ravenclaw.  Harry was taking every lesson being offered in that extradimensional space they’d dubbed Refuge.  Dueling, in particular, had taught him exactly how inept he really was.  Riddle and Slyther were completely terrifying to face, having been tutored in Dark Arts and dueling practically from the cradle.  John, though not nearly so well trained, was almost as scary for the simple fact that he fought dirtier even than Riddle.  It wasn’t so much that he was prepared to use any underhanded method to win.  It was that he used the most underhanded methods he could manage as a matter of course.  If you could see his attack coming, it meant he’d done something wrong.  He was freaking scary.

Harry seemed to have better natural instincts than Raven or Flames – he suspected because he hadn’t had such a cushy upbringing – but they both trounced him when it came to the range of spells that they could use and their overall execution was _much_ better thanks to their training in the Light Arts by their guardians.  Claw was on a level with Raven, but almost as bloodthirsty as John, which made for a scary combination.  The only one that Harry could best most of the time was Ryff, who was nearly as timid as the Neville in Harry’s world.

Harry was progressing very quickly though.  He was absolutely determined that he wasn’t going to end up like those anonymous Hufflepuffs, dead for being too soft, too kind, too loyal, whatever.  He could see the strength in the Slytherins, even if they scared the crap out of him sometimes.  He saw the strength in Claw, too, who was really quite Slytherin for a Ravenclaw.  And he saw what they had in common that made the difference.  Self-confidence.  Personal pride.  Self-preservation.  Ambition.  They were strong because they believed they could be and they worked hard to be.  Raven and Flames’ failings clearly demonstrated that superior background wasn’t all that mattered – not to Harry Potter from any dimension evidently.  What really mattered was exactly how determined they were to function at their full potential. 

Raven and Flames couldn’t relate on the same level.  Their childhoods had been too easy.  Riddle and Slyther had both grown up somewhat pampered too, but they’d also been raised by Dark Slytherins who highly valued power and skill and greatly disdained weakness.  They may have been valued and lavished with gifts growing up, but they were expected to be strong.

Hell, just last week they’d been exchanging childhood stories.  Their most difficult early memories.  That really put some things in perspective.

_“I’d never been so scared in my life,” Flames concluded quietly, after telling his story about when his guardian, Sirius, had ended up in St. Mungo’s hospital after a bad broom accident.  Sirius had evidently been badly injured, but pulled through just fine in the end.  Flames had been six, and he’d been the only one available when Sirius had fallen.  It had been Flames that had floo’d the healers._

_“Raven,” Riddle prompted in that slightly creepy quiet tone that was nonetheless capable of capturing all the attention of the room in an instant.  That boy had such a remarkable_ presence _.  It was somewhat awe inspiring.  Harry knew he wasn’t the only one who’d taken to trying to emulate the cool, collected son of Voldemort’s mannerisms.  He’d have been more embarrassed if it wasn’t literally himself that he was copying.  After all, he’d had no idea that_ he _could possibly look like_ that _before meeting Riddle._

_Raven leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, and stared into the burning brazier crackling sedately in the center of their circled chairs.  His eyes were solemn and distant as he told a story of a time when he and Neville had been visiting the Diggory family.  Late in the evening, the house had been attacked by former Death Eaters trying to kill him and Neville both._

_Harry couldn’t help but think that, though it was a scary story, Raven and Neville had ended up spending the whole fight hiding in the cellar with Cedric Diggory, who was a few years older than them, while the adults had fought and handled the whole thing.  Harry couldn’t remember ever having adults protect him like that.  Frankly, he couldn’t imagine any situation in which he’d feel comfortable even trusting any adults he knew to handle guarding his life that way._

_Slyther told a rather chilling story about the first and last time he’d ever been rebellious to his aunt Bella.  Evidently, he’d been three at the time, and had decided that he didn’t want to practice magic.  He’d wanted to be playing instead._

_“It didn’t last long,” he assured everyone with a grim smile.  “Just a few seconds, but it was enough.  I love Bella desperately, and I’d do just about anything for her, but let me warn you all right now that you do not ever want to feel her Cruciatus.  The only one I’ve ever felt that’s worse is Lord Voldemort’s.”_

_And Harry thought that little story went a really long way toward explaining exactly what it had been like growing up as son to Bellatrix and Rodolphus Lestrange.  The loyalty that he saw when Slyther talked about them had never wavered, but that didn’t really surprise him.  Harry could see himself tolerating minor torture from time to time in exchange for knowing that he had real life parental figures who honestly loved him._

_Riddle went next, with a tiny smile despite his grim eyes.  “I was four years old the first time I killed,” he admitted.  “Father had started including me in his meetings a few months previously.  That day… father was angrier than I’d ever seen him.  One of the Death Eaters was a spy for Dumbledore.  Valory Winters.  She was just a couple years out of Hogwarts, from a predominantly Light family.  Apparently, Dumbledore had used her younger sister, who was still attending Hogwarts, against her.  Blackmail.  Winters caved, and started feeding him information._

_“Father found out, of course.  You can’t hide something like that from Father, especially not a kid just out of Hogwarts with barely passable Occlumency shields.  Dumbledore would have known how unlikely she was to survive his little gambit, of course, but he did it anyway.”_

_He sighed lightly.  “Anyway, Father tore through her mind and found everything she’d ever passed on to Dumbledore.  She was a weeping, broken mess by the time he was done with her.  At four years old I thought it was rather pathetic.  Now, of course, I know enough to realize that almost anyone would look like that after Father got through with their mind._

_“I wasn’t capable of casting the killing curse yet, but I’d just mastered a slicing curse.  Father told me to kill her for him…  I did as I’d been trained.  One slicing curse to each side of her throat.  I watched her bleed out, gasping, crying, and staring into my eyes the entire time.  When she was dead, Father looked at me with pride and told me I’d done well,” he smiled a little._

_The room was deathly silent.  Slyther had a look in his eyes that suggested he’d been through something similar.  John just looked thoughtful.  Ryff and Claw were pensive.  Flames looked openly horrified.  Raven looked nauseous.  Harry imagined pensive was probably how he looked as well.  On one level, he_ knew _that it was wrong.  He knew that he should be horrified and nauseous both, and part of him was.  A disturbingly large part of him, however, was imagining what it must have felt like to have a father proud of him._

_Harry was coming to realize that his yearning for parental love was even stronger than he could have ever imagined.  The fact that he couldn’t even properly hate Voldemort just because the man sounded like a decent father told him precisely how fucked up he really was.  Part of him instinctively recognized that yearning as a weakness and thus recoiled from it.  He knew that the Voldemort in his world, if he ever offered Harry that kind of affection...  Harry would be very vulnerable to him.  It was a thought at once chilling and damnably seductive._

_Harry snapped out of his contemplation when Riddle asked him to tell his story.  Harry sighed.  He didn’t really like talking about this kind of thing, but he didn’t think anyone else here did either.  That was the point of tonight’s exercise.  They picked a topic each week to share.  Some were happy, some sad, some more neutral, but just having a relatively impartial audience that could never betray his secrets to anyone in his own world actually was rather freeing, which he suspected was the reason behind Riddle initiating this little tradition._

_“I was five,” Harry started quietly.  “It was Christmas.  I’d just finished helping to cook the holiday meal, and Vernon ordered me to my cupboard.  They didn’t want a freak like me spoiling their holiday.”  He cleared his throat quietly.  He’d_ never _spoken of this before.  He knew he’d never have been able to do it if he was in any other company.  If he hadn’t known that five of the seven other boys in the room had stories just as bad or worse._

 _“It was the first and last time that I ever questioned_ why _they hated me so badly.  I…  It was the worst beating I’d ever gotten, followed by a week in the cupboard with nothing but a few bottles of water and a few scraps of bread and one wrinkled old apple.”_

_The other Dursley-raised boys in the room were nodding along as though they’d been through similar situations, which didn’t surprise him at all._

_“That was the day that I realized, finally, that nothing I did would ever earn me their favor.”_

_It was almost alarming how good it felt to have said that aloud – to have confided that awful memory to other people.  It was also a great relief to know that they couldn’t ever tell anyone in his world.  For that reason, they, unlike anyone else he’d ever known, were_ safe.

No, Harry didn’t feel bad for wanting to study instead of play games.  He did, however, worry for his friendship with Ron.  He could already see them growing apart.  Harry’s new association with the other incarnations of himself was making him grow up a lot.  He couldn’t ever remember being a “child”.  Not as Raven and Flames had been children, happy and carefree…  But he’d always wanted to be.  When he’d started Hogwarts, he’d seen it as his second chance in a lot of ways.  A life free of the Dursleys and all that came with them…  It had seemed like a dream come true.

Only now was he truly beginning to understand that he could no more afford to be a child in the wizarding world than the muggle world.  Actually, he could afford it considerably less.  In the muggle world, he’d been miserable and Dudley and Vernon had beaten him, but he’d never truly feared for his life there.  At least, not from anything but starvation or thirst, but they’d yet to completely forget to feed and water him, even when he was being punished.

The wizarding world was an altogether different story.  Here, there really were people actively trying to kill him.  Powerful people.  If he meant to live to reach adulthood, he needed to forget any and all foolish notions of having fun for its own sake.  Not that he wasn’t ever going to have fun, he was just going to find ways to go about it that could accomplish something or he wasn’t going to bother.  Well, for the most part, at least.  He’d already figured out that learning was actually fun.  At least, at Refuge, it was.  Learning new spells and actually getting them to work was one of the best feelings in the world.

And, of course, he and the others made fun of it, challenging each other to find the most obscure ways to accomplish things.  Like dueling with nothing but household spells.  Or doing menial tasks with dueling spells.  It had seemed silly to him when Claw and Slyther had first cooked up the idea, but within a couple of weeks, Harry had realized exactly how much more versatile he’d already become.  By forcing himself to essentially do things the hard way, he was picking up a lot more spells than he otherwise would have.  Spells that he’d never have thought to bother with had proven to be invaluable.  And learning to use them in obscure ways was teaching him to be adaptable. 

Yes, it was fun, but he could _definitely_ see those enjoyable exercises saving his life one day.

Ron couldn’t understand – didn’t _want_ to understand.  When Harry did try to explain the fact that he was concerned for his life, Ron had a disturbing tendency to either change the subject, call him paranoid, or assure him that the adults would protect him.  It made Harry want to scream and had ended in Harry stalking out of the room while biting his tongue to keep in his sharp words – several times.

Two weeks after arriving at the Burrow, they were finally ready to go shopping for their school things.  When it was announced that they were going to floo to the Alley, Harry was immensely grateful for the lessons Raven and Riddle had been giving on the wizarding world for the Dursley-raised among them.  Those lessons included all forms of wizarding travel.  Portkeys were the worst, as they always managed to make Harry nauseous.  Apparation was easily the best, and Harry had almost mastered that, though he wouldn’t be able to do it legally until he was seventeen.  Flooing had taken some getting used to.  Learning to stay aware enough to avoid falling in a sooty heap upon exiting was a challenge, but Harry was getting good at that too.

The Weasleys automatically expected Harry to know how to do it despite being muggle raised, and Harry ignored the presumption since it worked to his favor.  When Mrs. Weasley asked him to go first though, he frowned at her politely.  “I think it might be best if I didn’t,” he grimaced slightly.

“Why ever not?” she blinked.

Harry rubbed the back of his neck in faint embarrassment.  “Well, we’re going to the Leaky Cauldron, right?  If I get there alone, and I’m recognized…”

Understanding lit her eyes, “Of course, you’re right, dear.  I’m so sorry.  I didn’t even think of that.”

Harry gave her a smile to assure her he wasn’t bothered by it.  It was rather nice that she’d actually forgotten his fame.

Fred and George went first, followed by Mr. Weasley, and then Harry.  Mindful of the soot, Harry threw the powder into the fireplace, took a breath before stepping inside, and called clearly, “Diagon Alley.”  He was whisked away, and focused on maintaining his balance and awareness of the approaching destination.  When he came to it, he stumbled slightly, but managed to step out without making a fool of himself or getting completely smeared in soot.  He brushed himself off casually as he stepped forward to make room, and not a moment too soon, as Ron came tumbling out of the grate after him.

With a supreme effort, Harry contained his smirk as he offered his friend a hand up.  Merlin, he was glad he’d had those lessons.  Even with Raven’s insightful instruction, Harry had done even worse than Ron the first time he’d tried it.

Their first stop was Gringotts, where they met Hermione and her parents.  Harry greeted them politely, somewhat disgusted to realize he was actually drawing on John’s lessons as he took measure of them.  Despite growing up in the muggle world, he had very little faith in himself to gage anything related to “normal” muggle behavior from his own experiences.  For all their wish to be perfectly normal, the Dursleys most certainly were _not_.

When they made the trip down to the vaults, Harry took stock of the nearly empty Weasley vault and had to forcibly restrain himself from offering them money.  Merlin, he carried more pocket money than they had in their entire vault!  He badly wanted to offer to cover all the children’s Hogwarts expenses this year in repayment for spending nearly a month in their house, but restrained himself as he knew they’d never accept, and he may very well insult them in the process.

It was bloody annoying, the pride of the poor.  Not that he would have been much more gracious about accepting charity when he’d been nothing more than the penniless Dursley whipping boy, he supposed.  It was just annoying.  He could cover all of their supply lists without even noticing the dent in his own vault, and that was just his trust vault.  If what some of the others had said about the Potter fortune was true – and why would they lie? – then he would be _filthy_ rich when he came of age.

He decided then that he was going to go all out for birthday and Christmas presents for the whole family from now on.  It was the least he could offer them for taking him into their home without a thought despite their poverty – even if he was less than certain of what his and Ron’s friendship would become in the coming years.  He didn’t see himself ever not liking the twins, at least, and he appreciated the fact that Mrs. Weasley cared enough to mother him, even if it made him uncomfortable.

Harry was greatly annoyed when they arrived at Flourish and Blotts to find it overrun thanks to a book signing.  Harry had really been looking forward to book shopping.  He hadn’t had much of anything to contribute to the library thus far, and he wanted to change that, but he wouldn’t be able to do that unless he could find some books that weren’t already in the Refuge library. 

With a slight sneer toward the overly handsome wizard drawing all this attention, Harry slithered his way through the throng into the back where the less popular books were located.

Riddle and Slyther had the Dark Arts section pretty much covered, and Harry knew he wouldn’t find anything on that topic here anyway.  The Ravenclaws had covered a lot of material between them, but they were a little thin on arithmancy and ancient runes, so Harry decided to start there.

He didn’t feel like trying to explain his sudden interest in the topics to Hermione in the middle of the crowded store, so he was grateful for the fact that she seemed so distracted by the book signing.  He was doing his best to search quickly for books that weren’t in the Refuge library that he might actually be able to understand, when the commotion broke out at the front of the shop.  He couldn’t see what was going on, but he was keen to stay out of it.

Whatever it was, it was over by the time Harry made it up to the clerk to buy his books.  He felt a little guilty when he saw how angry all the Weasleys looked.  He hadn’t realized that whatever was going on had anything to do with them, but by the looks on their faces, it must have.

He didn’t have long to wonder, since Ron was giving him a play-by-play in angry bursts by the time they were walking out the door. 

The whole family was rather subdued as they returned to the Leaky to floo back to the Burrow.

* * *

 

**21 August**

“Enter.”

Harry opened the door and stepped into Riddle’s study to find the somehow much more attractive boy seated in front of the fireplace with a glass of butterbeer in his hand.

“Hello, Gryffin,” Riddle greeted with a small, subdued smile.  “What can I do for you?”

Harry sighed, “I was wondering if we could talk a bit?”

“Of course,” Riddle readily agreed, gesturing to his left, where a chair suddenly materialized.  That wasn’t actually conjuration, Harry knew, but Riddle’s instinctive grasp of the magic of this place.  They’d all picked up some of it, but none could hold a candle to Riddle.  But that made sense, as Riddle’s father had created this place using Riddle’s magic.  “What’s on your mind?” he asked as Harry settled himself.

Harry accepted the offered glass of butterbeer gratefully – he really did like the stuff – and sipped it while he tried to organize his thoughts.  He’d been thinking about this almost since meeting the other boy, but had only just worked up the conviction to broach the subject.

“Does it ever bother you?” he finally asked, being careful to keep any judgment out of the question.  “What your father does?”

Riddle sighed minimally and leaned back a little in his chair, studying Harry thoughtfully as though to ascertain the motive behind the question.  “I love my father very much,” Riddle said quietly.

“I know,” Harry replied, his voice a little hoarse.  He looked at the fire and sipped his drink for something to do besides focus on that chillingly penetrating look the other boy was giving him.  Regardless of who the man was, Harry couldn’t help the ache in his chest just thinking about the way Riddle always looked and sounded when he talked about his father.

After a long moment, Riddle spoke again.  “You see the world in black and white, Gryffin,” he said quietly.

Harry looked at him cautiously.  “What do you mean?”

“Right and wrong are easy for you to understand, aren’t they?”

Harry nodded, “Well, yeah.  Killing people if it’s not in self-defense or defending someone else is wrong.  Saving people is right.”

Riddle studied him a moment, then gazed into the fire.

“Isn’t it?” Harry couldn’t help but ask, since Riddle clearly disagreed.  Harry wasn’t prepared to just take the other boy’s word for it, since Riddle was obviously influenced by his father, but Harry genuinely wanted to understand how someone that he actually liked could be okay with the things Voldemort did.

Riddle looked at him again at the question.  He studied him shrewdly for a moment, then tilted his body slightly to face Harry more directly.  It was disturbing how much intensity those emerald green eyes could convey.  Harry was sure his own identical eyes had never looked like that.

“I’m going to pose an academic exercise, Gryffin,” he said in that quiet, intense voice that was impossible _not_ to listen to.  Harry easily recognized Riddle’s “teaching mode”, having attended enough of his lessons.  “It is entirely hypothetical.  Answer me this, if you can. 

“There are one hundred people from all walks of life, young, old, rich, poor, muggle, magical, bachelors, and families.  They are all infected with an acutely deadly illness.  There is a single baby in this group that carries an immunity to the illness.

“Now, there are two choices.  First, you can do nothing.  Everyone except the baby will die.  Second, you can use that baby to create a cure for everyone else, but the baby won’t survive.  The life of one innocent baby, or ninety-nine random individuals.  Which choice is ‘right’?”

Harry blinked in shock as his mind rebelled against the idea, insisted that there had to be another choice.  He wanted to pose alternate options, such as trying to find another way to cure the illness, but he knew that that wasn’t the point of this exercise.  The point was in the assumption that there was no alternative. 

If it was up to him, could he take the life of an innocent baby to save all those people?  It was a horrible choice that should never have to be made, but…

“That is the folly of a black and white perspective of the world,” Riddle said quietly, evidently expecting no vocalized answer to his question.  “It is easy to shut our eyes to these difficult questions and convince ourselves that the world is made up of right and wrong, good and evil, light and dark, but it is much more complicated than that.  These types of questions are a part of life, and not just in this sort of extreme scenario either.

“The true leaders of the world must be able to make these choices while the weak close their eyes and hope the problems will just go away.  My father and Dumbledore both understand this.  I can promise you that Dumbledore would kill that baby in an instant for the ‘greater good’,” he sneered slightly.  “My father would do the same, though he wouldn’t feel the need to justify his action.  He would simply know that it was the right choice and disdain anyone foolish enough to argue it.”

Harry frowned, “Okay, I see your point there, but that doesn’t really answer my question.  I mean, like in that story that you told about when you killed for the first time.  Voldemort could have let that girl go.  Wiped her memory, even, so she couldn’t be used against you.  But he killed her – or rather, made you kill her.  How is that not obviously wrong?”  Harry kept his voice as even as he could, genuinely trying to understand Riddle perspective.

“What do you think would happen if Father allowed traitors – even those pressured into turning – to go free and unharmed beyond a little memory loss?”  He paused, but Harry really wasn’t sure where he was going with this.  He seemed to see that after a moment, and continued, “Father values and rewards loyalty, Gryffin, but he can’t just dismiss disloyalty.  How much easier would it be for Dumbledore to insert traitors into our ranks if everyone knew that they would never actually come to harm from it?”

Harry’s eyes widened as that actually made sense.  “But…  But Dumbledore doesn’t do that.  How come there aren’t a bunch of traitors following him?”

“Dumbledore would make sure they went to Azkaban,” Riddle shrugged.

“Oh,” Harry frowned, feeling a bit dim.  Riddle always tended to make him feel like that though.

“Winters suffered for about an hour,” Riddle said grimly.  “Dumbledore would have seen her suffer a decade or two until her mind was snapped by the cruel attentions of the dementors.  Which is really crueler?”

Harry swallowed hard.  He’d never thought of it like that, but Azkaban really _was_ pretty awful.  And traitors would be sentenced to life.  “Okay, but…  Voldemort kills more than just traitors and enemies.  His people attack villages, slaughters whole families…”

“Not as often as you’d think,” Riddle shrugged unconcernedly.  “Most of the families that are targeted are those who have set themselves as enemies.  Though I’m sure Dumbledore and your Ministry wouldn’t want you to know it, my father doesn’t kill just for the sake of killing.  Ever.  It’s wasteful, and my father has a pathological aversion to waste.  All magical blood is precious.”

“Then why all the anti-muggleborn stuff?” Harry protested.

“Because mudbloods are dangerous,” Riddle said solemnly.  “Not only do we risk exposure to the muggles through their muggle families, but these mudbloods come into our society with their muggle ideals, and they think they have a right to try to change us to fit their idea of what the world should be.  They have no respect for our culture, our civilization.

“Now, I know that you were muggle raised, so I’ll explain this as best I can.  Mudbloods see wizarding society as being outdated and backward, yet they do not take into account the fact that the magical world was ‘civilized’ when muggles were only beginning to master agriculture and architecture.  Atlantis, for example, was a sprawling metropolis of advanced culture and comfort _thousands_ of years ago.

“The muggles, for all their high-minded arrogance, were little more than savages until very recently.  Bloody Morgana, there are witches and wizards alive today that are old enough to remember a time before the first muggle automobile.”

Harry blinked.  “I guess I never thought about that.”

Riddle nodded sympathetically.  “In many ways, the wizarding world seems backwards to modern mudbloods because our world was not affected by their industrial revolution that shoved such ‘advancement’ into their world.  Can you see why magicals tend to see muggles as irresponsible children?  Within five decades, the muggles went from being little more than an annoyance to detonating bombs that killed millions in the space of a second and poisoned the land they destroyed.

“My father grew up in muggle London during the muggle World War II.  He is well acquainted with the danger those troublesome children present.”

Harry frowned thoughtfully.  “So the war isn’t about pure blood at all.  It’s about the muggles.”

Riddle sighed, “The fact that the Light has managed to so fully obscure that intrinsic detail just goes to show that they don’t play ‘fair’ either.  _Of course_ it is about the muggles.  The danger of the mudbloods is that they almost exclusively support the muggles thanks to the way they were raised.  Father knows that we can’t stand against the muggles while we’re fighting each other.  He’s trying to take over the magical world so that he can unite us against the muggles, who grow into a greater threat every year.”

“You make it sound like Voldemort’s the good guy,” Harry grumbled.

“There is no good or evil.  There is only…”

“Power and those too weak to seek it,” Harry finished for him.  “Voldemort said that to me last year.”

Riddle nodded, looking vaguely pleased.  “It’s true.  Good and evil are always subjective, just as right and wrong are subjective.  Now, I won’t pretend for a moment that Father is _nice_.  He is far from it.  He’s not without cruelty or a certain sadism.  He definitely doesn’t abide disrespect, but he’s earned the right to demand it simply because he’s one of the most powerful wizards in the world.  I think you’d find that Dumbledore didn’t care much for it either.”

“But he probably wouldn’t curse me for it,” Harry smirked faintly.

Riddle chuckled, “No, probably not.  He would try to make you feel guilty for it, and if that didn’t work, he’d attack you in other subtle ways that would be just as painful.  I won’t tell you what to do or who to trust, Gryffin, just as I ask you not to attempt to tell me as much, but I do hope that you don’t underestimate Dumbledore.  He is a manipulator.  He may appear the jovial, slightly senile grandfather type, but he does nothing without cause.  Don’t allow yourself to be fooled by him.”

Harry nodded grimly, “That’s what Slyther says, too.  In his world, Dumbledore was the one who put him with the Dursleys before Bella and Rody found him.  It was probably the same for all of us who ended up with them.”

Riddle hummed his agreement and sipped his drink.

Harry ran a tired hand over his eyes despite the fact that he felt no physical exhaustion here.  “I wonder if there are any worlds in which Dumbledore truly cared for Harry Potter,” he mused wearily.

Riddle shook his head, “I don’t know, but I don’t think I’ve found one yet.  He’s always tried to control us or destroy us.”

“Because we’re powerful,” Harry frowned.  That was still a little difficult to credit himself, but it was clear enough from some of the others.  Riddle, in particular.

“And therefore an asset if we can be controlled, and a threat if we cannot.”

Harry shook his head, “I don’t know what to think anymore.  I don’t know if I agree with Voldemort’s methods, but I’m starting to seriously question Dumbledore’s, too.  And I really don’t think I’d survive pitting myself against both of them.  Obviously neither will just let me not get involved…”

“Maybe you should take some time to think about what the war is really about and decide on your own beliefs,” Riddle suggested gently.  “Until you know what you believe, you won’t know which side most closely compliments that.”

Harry nodded, then glanced up at the clock ticking silently behind Riddle’s desk.  It was just after five in the morning.  He sighed, “Well, I think I’m going to do some reading before I have to get up.  Thanks for the talk, Riddle.”

“Any time, Gryffin,” Riddle smiled warmly.

* * *

 

**28 August**

Harry stared at the innocuous little black diary sitting on his lap.  He’d found it three days ago.  He’d been surprised to discover the magical book when Ginny had accidentally left it in the kitchen when she went to bed.  He’d almost fainted when he’d discovered that the book belonged to one Tom Marvolo Riddle, and that it could respond to whoever was writing in it. 

He’d learned enough caution this summer to cease using the thing as soon as he’d discovered the enchantment.  He’d immediately gone to Refuge and managed to conjure a replica for the others to examine while he explained what he’d learned about it.  He’d been a little smug by the surprise and envy of some of the others who’d known nothing about it.  He may not be the most intellectually or magically impressive of the bunch, but he did manage to find himself in more odd, interesting, and dangerous situations than a lot of them – mixed blessing that that tended to be.

When Riddle had identified it as his father’s journal, Harry hadn’t been surprised, though the same couldn’t be said for the fact that it had belonged to Voldemort when the man had gone to Hogwarts.  Or the little detail that it contained a shard of Voldemort’s very _soul_!

There was a time, not long ago, when Harry knew that he would have immediately gone to Dumbledore with this.  Now, he wasn’t so sure.  He still hadn’t decided which side he was going to choose, after all.

Instead, he’d discussed it with Riddle and Slyther, both of whom were familiar with the diary.  They’d taught him how to protect himself from the dangers the diary posed, and he was very glad he’d taken it from Ginny when he realized just how dangerous the thing could actually be, capable of feeding on his life-force through his emotions in order to resurrect itself.  Some kind of extra safeguard Voldemort had set up in case the rest of him were ever lost or caged.

Harry glanced across the room at where Ron was still snoring and drooling on his pillow.  He smiled faintly at his unconscious friend before focusing on the diary again.  Taking a steadying breath, Harry placed his hand flat on top of it and reached out to it with his magic the way his Slytherin friends had taught him.

The magic within the diary stirred excitedly in response, and reached back, attempting to tie itself into his magic to feed itself.  Having expected this, Harry promptly slapped the tendrils away, then swiftly began to build around it the cage that he’d worked hard to perfect over the last two nights in Refuge.  Glad that he was in a wizarding dwelling so that the Ministry wouldn’t be aware of his use of underage magic, Harry built layer after layer of the cage, each guarding against the weaknesses of those beneath until he could feel the very air around the diary vibrating with the intensity of the magic around the thing.

It gave him chills to work magic in the real world and see evidence that he actually _was_ powerful.  It was the first time he’d been able to use any of the magical lessons outside Refuge.  Finally, he inverted the strands of the cage, rather like a satin cloth, leaving the outside dull and inert while the inside burned of powerful magic, acting as a mirror to contain the magical signature.

He was sweating slightly by the time he’d finished, but upon examination of his work, he was satisfied that it had worked exactly as he’d hoped.  To anyone examining the magic of the diary, it would register nothing more than a simple page extension charm despite the powerful dark magic within the diary, and the powerful dark grayish magic that he’d wrapped around it to contain it.

Chuckling silently at his success, Harry hunted up a quill and ink and opened the diary.

 _Hello, Tom , _he penned.

There was a brief pause before, _What have you done, Harry?_

They’d basically gotten as far as introductions when Harry had first found the diary and he’d not conversed with it since.

 _I’ve made sure you can’t hurt anyone , _he replied.  _That’s some very dark magic you have there._

_Is that what you’ve been doing since our brief exchange before?  Finding a way to… bind me?_

Harry snickered breathlessly.  It was beyond exhilarating to consider exactly _who_ he was talking to.  _Something like that._

_I’m intrigued by what you’ve done.  It’s… impressive.  Why don’t you tell me a little about yourself, Harry?_

_Ah, but I think you’re much more interesting,_ Harry countered.  _I’m just a regular wizard, after all.  You, on the other hand, are a shard of a dark lord’s soul._

The page remained blank for almost a minute.  _You know who I am,_ came finally.  _You know_ what _I am?_

_I believe the term is “horcrux”, yes._

_My intrigue grows.  Not many people know what a horcrux is, much less how to recognize one._

_Oh, I merely have better resources than most , _Harry chuckled.

_What do you intend to do with me, Harry Potter?_

_Haven’t decided yet.  I admit, I’m quite curious about the boy who would grow up to murder my parents along with so many others._

Another long pause.  _My elder self killed your parents?_

_Yep._

_In that case, I’m a little surprised you haven’t attempted to destroy me yet.  What do you hope to gain by conversing with me?_

Harry sighed thoughtfully.  _Perspective, maybe?  I don’t precisely hold it against you that you killed my parents.  They were your enemies.  Among the most devoted to the “Light”._

_Are you not “devoted to the Light”?_

_I’m undecided.  I have friends among both sides.  I’ve listened to arguments endorsing both sides.  I find myself sympathizing a little more with the methods of the Light, but the goals of the Dark._

_Is not the end more important than the means?_

_Ha.  Spoken like a true Dark Lord._

_I’ll take that as a compliment._

_Considering who you are – or who you became – I can’t see any other way you should take it._

Harry tapped his quill against his chin thoughtfully before dipping it in the ink again.  _Your elder self is currently without a body.  I met him briefly a few months ago, while he was possessing some idiot.  I didn’t have the perspective then that I do now, and…  Well, our meeting didn’t go very well._

_How so?_

_I killed his host._

_I see…_

_Yes, I don’t think he’s very happy with me, but that’s nothing new.  My family made me his enemy by default until very recently when I started to question some things I’d always been encouraged to take for granted.  Now that I’m trying to choose a side, I’m trying to weigh all my options.  Dumbledore has given me a decent amount of information to work with regarding his character.  I’d like to know a little more about you before I make a choice._

_What do you want to know?_

_I want to know who you are.  Not as a dark lord, but as a person.  Why did you become a dark lord?  Was it merely that you had the power to do what you wanted?  Well, maybe I should tell you what I already know first.  I know that you grew up in a muggle orphanage, and I know that you weren’t treated well there._

_May I ask where this knowledge comes from?  I doubt it’s common knowledge._

_Definitely not.   _Harry paused, then shrugged.  What could it hurt?  _I said that I have friends on both sides.  One of those friends is the adoptive son of your elder self._

_I adopted a son??_

_Yep.  Well, first you orphaned him.  Then you adopted him.  Somehow, he doesn’t seem resentful about that.  He told me that you’ve been striving to make it up to him ever since._

_Interesting…  I never saw myself as a paternal sort._

Harry chuckled.  _Honestly, I wouldn’t have either.  Your son’s loyalty to you and love for you is impossible to mistake though._

_You said he’s your friend?_

_Yes._

_How close are you?_

_Well, we’ve only known each other a short time, but I’ve grown close to him.  Probably almost as close as I am to anyone._

Harry rubbed his eyes and glanced at his watch.  He blinked when he realized how late it was.  Quickly, he put quill to paper again.  _I’ve just realized how late it’s gotten.  I have a lesson to attend in just over fifteen minutes, so I need to be going._

_A lesson?  Are you a student?_

_Yes._

_What year?_

Harry smirked.  _I’ll be starting my second year soon._

Several long seconds of blank page were followed by, _Second?  Impossible.  The warding you used to bind me is very advanced._

_As I said, I have excellent resources, including Voldemort’s son._

_He knows about this and did not attempt to reclaim the diary?_

_That, my dear Tom, is a very long story.  Perhaps I’ll tell you some day.  Presently, I’m going to be late for a transfiguration lesson with my tutor._

He closed the diary before Tom could reply, and put away the quill and ink before settling a few quick wards around the diary to prevent anyone else from finding or using it, then tucked it under his pillow and laid down.  He carefully slowed his breathing and focused on falling asleep.  Thanks to his budding Occlumency skills, it was relatively easily accomplished.

* * *

 

**31 August**

Riddle was late for the weekly meeting.  Harry and the others had been gathered half an hour already in the meeting room.  John had gone to the library when Riddle hadn’t shown after ten minutes, and he’d come back with a book that he’d been lost in ever since.  Raven and Flames were conversing rather loudly.  Sharing stories about Light children they both knew.  Humorous stories by the frequency of their laughter.

Claw and Ryff had their heads together talking about something in an undertone.  By their expressions, it was something serious but not grave.  Harry had settled himself next to Slyther and was eagerly absorbing everything Slyther could tell him about Voldemort, particularly his youth.

“Sorry I’m late,” Riddle’s voice drew everyone’s attention as he appeared in one corner of the room, dressed in elegant black robes, as always, his long, pristine black hair flowing elegantly behind his shoulders.  “I’ve found a new recruit,” he smirked as he settled himself into his chair.

Harry frowned curiously, along with everyone else.

Small smirk firmly in place, Riddle nodded toward the back of the room.

Harry turned and his eyes widened slightly when he found another Harry Potter standing there.  The new recruit, as Riddle put it, had his hair a couple inches below his shoulders.  He wasn’t as short as Harry, but not as tall as Riddle either – more like John, actually.  He was wearing simple black cotton sleep pants and t-shirt and no glasses.

“Welcome,” Riddle greeted him warmly.

The new Harry’s brilliant green eyes flicked over each of them present, then around the room, then down to examine himself.  “Well, this is interesting,” he noted with a slightly raised brow.

“We call this place Refuge,” Riddle explained.  “It is an extradimensional space that my father helped me to create for the sole use of Harry Potters from various dimensions.  We are the original eight, but I’ve been searching out additional candidates over the last month since we began this.  I hope you’ll be interested in joining us.”

The new guy hesitated just a moment before crossing the room with a smooth gait and lowering himself into the newly added seat situated between Raven and Ryff.  “What is the purpose of this place?”

“The betterment of each of us,” Riddle replied.  “Refuge has a library comprised of the combined books we each have read throughout our lives and is available to everyone.  We each have a private study.  There are practice arenas, and various members offer lessons throughout the week to anyone who is interested.  We can also share information about our lives and our worlds, which frequently overlap, allowing Flames, for example,” he gestured to the Harry in question, “who is a firmly Light wizard, to learn details about individuals in his world that he would never be able to speak to amicably.”

The new guy nodded thoughtfully, “An interesting concept.”

Riddle nodded his agreement.  “We began by each confiding the broad strokes of our upbringing and our first year at Hogwarts as well as selecting nicknames.  For expedience sake, I’ll give you an overview.  My name is Harry Potter Riddle.  Here, I am called simply Riddle.  I was adopted at fifteen months old, the same night my birth parents were killed.  My adoptive father is Tom Riddle, more commonly known as Voldemort.”

The new guy’s brow had risen at the first mention of Riddle, and his eyes lifted to sweep across Riddle’s forehead.  It was the only one in the room that did not bear a lightning bolt scar.

Riddle continued, “Raven,” he nodded toward the boy, “was taken in by Augusta Longbottom when his parents were killed, and grew up in Longbottom Manor with his godbrother Neville.  He was sorted into Ravenclaw.”

Riddle went around the room, giving the broad strokes of each Harry’s life, namely who raised them and what Hogwarts house they were in.  Through it all, there was not the slightest flicker of emotion on the new boy’s face.  He was a Slytherin, Harry decided, and probably leaning toward Dark if not totally Dark.

“John,” Riddle concluded, “was taken in by the Dursleys as well, until he killed them in their sleep when he was eight.  He’s been living on his own in the muggle world since then.  He was sorted into Slytherin.”  It was astounding how Riddle mentioned killing people in their sleep in the middle of that without changing inflection once.

The new boy looked at John and quirked an eyebrow, but all he said was, “John?”

John smirked faintly, “An alias I use in the muggle world.”

New boy nodded thoughtfully.  “Well, I don’t generally talk about my personal life, but I suppose there is no tangible reason to withhold in this particular setting.  I too was taken in by the Dursleys.  I was five when I discovered that power was within my grasp despite my ‘family’.  Namely, the power to deny them the satisfaction of seeing that they were able to cause me pain.  From that point, I sought more power by learning everything that I could.

“I killed the Dursleys when I was nine.  Accidental magic.  Vernon was very angry that the local librarian had noticed a bruise on my neck and sent the police to the house.  After they were gone, he got rather carried away with a beating.  If not for my magic healing me during it, he probably would have killed me.  That angered me, and the magic I was drawing to heal me turned against them.”

“What happened to them?” John asked with more overt interest than Harry had yet seen him show.

The new boy smiled very slightly, “They exploded, like a bomb had been detonated, except without heat or damage to anything else in the room.  The largest pieces of them were bone fragments just over a cubic centimeter.”

John looked impressed. 

Ryff was looking thoughtful again, as he had when John had mentioned killing his Dursleys.  Harry was really starting to suspect the Dursleys in Ryff’s world would not survive another summer.  “So you played it off as accidental magic?”

The new boy shook his head, “No.  At that point, of course, I knew nothing about the magical world.  I suspected that something of the sort may exist though, and I didn’t want to take the chance that someone may discover what I had done or how.  I crafted a bomb and set it up in the room in which they’d died, then ran down the street to a neighbor house and claimed, essentially, that the mob was at the house.  As it turned out, Vernon actually _had_ borrowed money from the mob.  The police didn’t take very long to close the case.”

“Very nice,” John complimented sincerely.

The new boy was smirking slightly again, probably at the novelty of this group.  “I went into an orphanage after that.  One of the caretakers there noticed that I seemed uncommonly intelligent, so she arranged for placement testing.  I ended up completing my A-levels that summer and attended Oxford at ten.”

Claw whistled appreciatively.

“I majored in botanical chemistry that year.  Obviously, I received my Hogwarts letter the summer after, and decided to postpone my muggle education in favor of a magical education.  I was sorted into Slytherin.  On Halloween, I was tracking Quirrell up to the third floor corridor when I heard Miss Granger scream.  I decided it would be good for my image if I was able to rescue her, so I went to her aid.  I was able to kill the troll and rescue her.

“Quirrell’s obsession with the stone was rather curious.  When he made his move for it at the end of the year, I followed him despite some reservations regarding the intelligence of the decision.  Happily, it turned out for the best.  I ended up trading my assistance in retrieving it in exchange for a truce between us which will stand until my seventeenth birthday, at which point we’ll have to renegotiate based on the current circumstances.

“This summer, I completed my second year exams, so I’ll be starting as a third year tomorrow.  The plan is to complete my NEWTs by the end of my fourth year, though Dumbledore only allowed it with my promise to remain at Hogwarts an additional three years as an apprentice and teaching assistant, probably to Severus, who became my legal guardian at the end of my first year.

“So, I suppose you can call me Snape.”

“I’m sorry,” Harry frowned, “ _Snape_ became your guardian?  Doesn’t he _hate_ you?”

Snape looked at him thoughtfully, “No.  He was keen to do so when we first met, but he came to respect me after I’d demonstrated clearly that I was most definitely a Slytherin.  Doing well in Potions certainly didn’t hurt either.  Are you aware of why he dislikes you?”

“Because he’s a sodding git who never got along with James,” Flames put in.

Snape frowned at him faintly, “That is part of it, though James was far from innocent in the generation of that animosity.  James Potter was a bully, too cowardly to face Severus without his three friends at his back.  The few times they did meet on even terms, Severus made memorable.  Are you also aware that Severus and Lily were childhood friends?  That their friendship persevered through fifth year before their falling out drove Severus to Voldemort and Lily to James?”

“Snape finally showed his true colors, and Mum wised up,” Flames countered.

Snape quirked a doubtful eyebrow, “As you prefer.”

“Wait, Snape was friends with my mum?” Harry interjected, astounded by that particular piece of information.

Snape looked at Harry again and nodded.  “They grew up as neighbors, the only two magical children in a muggle neighborhood.  Severus, as a halfblood with a magical mother, introduced Lily to the magical world after observing her performing accidental magic.  They were the best of friends from that point.  Severus doesn’t like to talk about it much, but he gave me copies of letters that they wrote to each other over the years.  I suspect that may be available in the library here.”


	3. Chapter 3

**1 September**

“What the hell?” Harry grumbled angrily as he slapped his hand yet again against the completely solid barrier preventing them from reaching the platform.

“We’re going to miss the train,” Ron whinged.  “I don’t understand why the gateway’s sealed itself-“

Harry looked up at the clock just seconds away from ticking over to the hour and silently cursed the Weasleys’ inability to be decently punctual.

“It’s gone,” Ron said, stunned.  “The train’s left.  What if Mum and Dad can’t get back through to us?  Have you got any Muggle money?”

Harry frowned at his quietly panicking friend.  “Ron, calm down.  Your parents will have noticed we’ve missed the train by now.  They’ll just apparate somewhere close to the station and come get us.”

Ron blinked a few times, then his shoulders sagged in relief.  “Right.  I didn’t think of that.”

Harry sighed and avoided rolling his eyes.  “Come on.  Let’s find a bench and sit down to wait.”

They wheeled their trollies to the nearest available bench and settled down to wait.

“I don’t understand why the barrier would seal up like that,” Ron was mumbling to himself.

Because he didn’t want Ron to go back to panicking, Harry decided not to mention the possibility that someone had done it to trap them there so that they could ambush the boy-who-lived.  Someone obviously didn’t want them getting on the train.  It was like…

His eyes widened.  _Of course_!  Dobby!  Who else would think that they could keep Harry from going to Hogwarts just by preventing him from getting on the train?!

He sighed quietly.  He hoped it was Dobby.  At least that would mean that no one was hiding in that crowd preparing to kidnap him.  Not that he’d completely put that beyond the barmy Malfoy elf.  Riddle had been the one to tell him who Dobby the House Elf belonged to.  He wasn’t quite sure what to do about that elf.  He supposed the most efficient means of getting rid of him would be to just tell Malfoy that a house elf named Dobby was coming to him.  Doubtless the elf would immediately be forbidden from going anywhere near Harry.  Even that crazy elf wouldn’t be able to disobey a direct order.

The problem with that plan was that he didn’t actually want the elf hurt, and he was sure Dobby would be punished severely if his masters discovered what he’d been doing.

“Oh, thank goodness!” Mrs. Weasley’s voice cut through the general din of the station as she and Mr. Weasley rushed over to them.  “What happened?  You weren’t behind us, and then we couldn’t get back through the barrier…”

Ron immediately began giving an overly dramatic estimation of the _horror_ of finding the barrier closed.

“Well, come on then,” Mr. Weasley sighed while Mrs. Weasley tried to suffocate them both in a crushing hug.  He cast a subtle notice-me-not, then shrunk down the trunks and pocketed them.  “We’ll take the Knight Bus.”

Harry nodded, glad that the man was relatively balanced – for a Weasley – and picked up Hedwig’s cage to follow them back out of the terminal.

The ride on the Knight Bus was insane, but much faster than the train, dropping them at the gate about half an hour after departing London.  Professor McGonagall met them there and escorted them into the building before ordering them up to the common room until the feast was ready to begin.

* * *

 

**2 September**

“All right, Harry?  I’m – I’m Colin Creevey,” he said breathlessly, taking a tentative step forward.  “I’m in Gryffindor, too.  D’you think – would it be all right if – can I have a picture?” he raised the camera hopefully.

It was times like this, Harry realized, when he _really_ wished he’d have let the hat put him in Slytherin.  Just imagine how many people would _hate_ him or _fear_ him…  It was making him almost wistful.

He chose not to examine that too closely.

“You want a picture of me?” Harry asked, because it was just so…

“So I can prove I’ve met you,” Colin said eagerly, edging further forward.  “I know all about you.  Everyone’s told me.  About how you survived when You-Know-Who tried to kill you and how he disappeared and everything and how you’ve still got a lightning scar on your forehead,” his eyes raked Harry’s hairline, “and a boy in my dormitory said if I develop the film in the right potion, the pictures’ll _move_.”  Colin drew his first breath, but plowed on just as Harry was opening his mouth to insert some kind of sanity into the situation.  “It’s _amazing_ here, isn’t it?  I never knew all the odd stuff I could do was magic till I got the letter from Hogwarts.  My dad’s a milkman, he couldn’t believe it either.  So I’m taking loads of pictures to send home to him.  And it’d be really great if I had one of you,” he looked imploringly at Harry, “maybe your friend could take it and I could stand next to you?  And then, could you sign it?”

Again, Harry opened his mouth, only to be cut off by Malfoy.

“ _Signed photos?_  You’re giving out _signed photos,_ Potter?”  The loud, scathing voice echoed around the courtyard.  He had stopped right behind Colin, flanked, as he always was at Hogwarts, by his large and thuggish cronies, Crabbe and Goyle.  “Everyone line up!” Malfoy roared to the crowd.  “Harry Potter’s giving out signed photos!”

Harry blinked a few times, spent a second wondering how the hell this situation had actually managed to turn into a great huge scene, then tried to figure out how to respond without looking like an idiot.  _What would Riddle do?_ He wondered, purposely not taking the time to wonder at the wisdom of emulating the mini-dark lord.

This whole thing was completely stupid, he realized.  Colin was making a fool of himself.  Malfoy overheard and decided to make a fool of himself as well.  The best thing Harry could do would be… nothing.  Let the prat look stupid.

With that in mind, he crossed his arms over his chest lazily and leaned back against a column next to him.

“You’re just jealous,” Colin defended valiantly, his defiant stance against the older and much larger boys proving the perfect picture of hotheaded Gryffindor bravado.

Harry had a mental image of himself looking distressingly like that last year when he’d been standing up to Malfoy.  He silently sent a fervent thanks to his fellow Harry Potters. 

“ _Jealous?_ ” Malfoy was going on, his voice still raised, but no longer needing to shout as half the courtyard was attentively listening in by now.  “Of what?  I don’t want a foul scar right across my head, thanks.  I don’t think getting your head cut open makes you that special myself.”

Harry kept his face impassive, allowing just slight amusement to be evident as he watched the show, though he couldn’t help but agree with the Slytherin.  Surviving Voldemort wasn’t what made him special.  There were a whole list of things that made him special, but none were the reason for his fame.  Well… so far.

“Eat slugs, Malfoy,” said Ron angrily.

Crabbe and Goyle stopped laughing and started rubbing their knuckles in a menacing way.

Harry bit back the need to laugh out loud.  Wizards – even wizarding children – threatening physical violence like muggle bullies.  Harry had been training only a month and he was pretty sure he could take the both of them in seconds, and Malfoy would almost certainly make himself vulnerable in his surprise, so he’d go down too.

Of course, the older Slytherins may or may not take offense at that.  If they did get involved though, the elder Gryffindors would certainly jump in, and the Hufflepuffs would move to protect anyone younger on both sides.  Merlin, he almost wanted to do it just to see what would happen.  Alas, he didn’t think it’d be worth all the detentions he’d certainly get for starting it though.  And Snape would undoubtedly show up and try to get him expelled.  It was like the man had radar for when Harry was doing something he shouldn’t.  Maybe he should check himself for monitoring charms?

Then Malfoy’s shrill voice brought him out of his ruminations, and he sternly scolded himself for being a very poor Gryffindor.

“Be careful, Weasley,” sneered Malfoy.  “Everyone knows your pathetic family can barely afford this school.  I don’t think they’d refund your tuition if you got expelled.”

A knot of Slytherin fifth years nearby laughed loudly at this.  It made Harry wonder if they were just displaying house unity as his Slytherin friends had described, or if their sense of humor was really that pathetic.

“Weasley would like a signed photo, Potter,” Malfoy smirked.  “It’d be worth more than his family’s whole house –“  He became slightly distracted when his eyes turned toward Harry, only to find him looking a little amused and completely at ease.

Ron whipped out his wand, earning Malfoy’s attention again, but Hermione shut _Voyages with Vampires_ with a snap and whispered, “Look out!”

“What’s all this, what’s all this?” Gilderoy Lockhart was striding toward them, his turquoise robes swirling behind him.  “Who’s giving out signed photos?”

 _Oh fuck me,_ Harry internally cursed as the Defense professor approached.  He blamed his foul language on John, who could out-curse a sailor without even trying.

While Harry watched the flamboyant ponce prance across the courtyard, struggling to contain his sneer, the man had the audacity to put his arm around Harry’s shoulders.  “Shouldn’t have asked!  We meet again, Harry!”

Pinned to Lockhart’s side, Harry saw Malfoy slide smirking back into the crowd.  Before he could disappear, Harry shot him a rueful smirk, which had the Malfoy heir blinking in shock.

“Come on then, Mr. Creevey,” said Lockhart, beaming at Colin.  “A double portrait, can’t do better than that, and we’ll _both_ sign it for you.”

Okay, that really was it.  “Colin, no,” Harry said firmly before the younger boy could get his camera up to snap the shot.  He then quickly twisted himself out of the man’s grip.  “Professor Lockhart,” he turned to him coolly when he was out of snatching distance, “This is the second time today you’ve put your hands on my person.  If it happens again, I will be taking it to the headmaster.”

Blessedly, the bell picked that moment to ring, sending the eager audience toward their next classes amid excited murmurs.  Harry moved quickly to slip into the crowd lest the peacock attempt to grab him again.

Of course, because Fate hated him, his very next class was with the ponce.  Merlin, he hoped the man might be a better teacher than he was… anything else.  He didn’t have a lot of hope given the mutterings he’d heard from some of the older students who’d already had his class.

Harry threw himself down in the very back of the room and didn’t bother pulling out his defense books, though he did make a point to ensure he didn’t look like he was pouting.

“Merlin, Harry,” Ron said as he plopped into the seat next to him.  “I can’t believe you said that!”

Harry gave his friend a faint smirk, and worked to keep it from turning into a sneer as the idiot swept into the room.  Harry’s attention lasted until the man picked up a copy of one of his own books from Neville’s desk and winked at his own portrait.  At that point, he pulled out the _Beginner’s Guide to Arithmancy_ , and started reading.  May as well do something useful.

He only became aware of the class he was in again when Ron elbowed him and slid a quiz in front of him.

Harry frowned at it.

  1. What is Gilderoy Lockhart’s favorite color?
  2. What is Gilderoy Lockhart’s secret ambition?
  3. What, in your opinion, is Gilderoy Lockhart’s greatest achievement to date?



 

Harry dutifully read through all the questions, then pulled out his quill, and wrote very clearly across the top of the page – he was getting much better with a quill after Raven had been nice enough to show him the proper way to do it and writing in his journal had provided a lot of practice.

_I have answered all of the questions actually related to Defense Against the Dark Arts knowledge.  I refuse to participate in what seems to me more like a Gilderoy Lockhart fan club than a Defense class._

Satisfied with that answer, he went back to his book.

Half an hour later, Lockhart collected the papers and rifled through them in front of the class.  He tuned the man out until…

“…but Miss Hermione Granger knew my secret ambition is to rid the world of evil and market my own range of hair-care potions – good girl!  In fact,” he flipped the paper over, “full marks!  Where is Miss Hermione Granger?”

Hermione raised a trembling hand.

“Excellent!” the idiot beamed.  “Quite excellent!  Take ten points for Gryffindor!”

Harry could not contain his sneer anymore.  He _liked_ Hermione.  He respected her for her intellect and will to learn.  But this…

His respect had just crashed and burned.

And then the so-called teacher started going on about Cornish Pixies.

Harry closed his eyes and made an effort to not pound his forehead on the desktop.  _Thank God I have tutors,_ he thought silently.

And then the moron opened the cage and released the whole lot of the little blighters on a class of unprepared second years.  He hadn’t even given them an incantation to use against them.

Pandemonium reigned.  Two picked Neville up by his ears.  Several shot through the window, showering the back row with broken glass.  The rest proceeded to wreck the classroom more effectively than a rampaging rhino.  They grabbed ink bottles and sprayed the class with them, shredded books and papers, tore pictures from the wall, upended the wastebasket, grabbed bags and books and threw them out of the smashed window.  Within minutes, half the class was sheltering under desks, and Neville was swinging from the iron chandelier in the ceiling.

Harry just flared his aura threateningly whenever the little miters got close and they’d abruptly turn in the other direction.  He took the time to pack up his things so that the pixies couldn’t destroy them.  Though it wouldn’t have been a great loss if they’d ruined Lockhart’s books. 

Actually…

Harry pulled one out and tossed it up, where a pixie immediately snatched it out of the air and began shredding it.  Grinning, he repeated the process with each of the other worthless defense books.  He’d be doing independent study this year, and he was sure that would be more than enough to answer any questions that actually mattered Lockhart might accidently slip into his tests.

“Come on now – round them up, round them up, they’re only pixies,” Lockhart shouted while Harry’s last course books was meeting a fitting end.

Then the idiot rolled up his sleeves, brandished his wand, and bellowed, “ _Peskipiksi Pesternomi_!”

Harry blinked in amazement at the ponce’s utterly useless attempt at corralling _pixies_.  Oh yes.  He was now absolutely certain that this man had nothing at all to teach him.  Then, to prove his worthlessness, Lockhart ducked under his own desk when the pixies stole his wand and chucked it out the window.

Harry was reasonably convinced the Defense professor was mentally challenged.

The bell rang and Harry was the first one out the door, having already packed up his things.

* * *

 

**4 September**

Channeling Riddle, Harry had taken to sending Lockhart his most poisonous glares whenever the man looked at him, which had at least succeeded in keeping him from trying to talk to Harry again.  That’s right.  The Defense professor at the “best school of magic in the world” looked genuinely afraid of a twelve-year-old. 

Harry had taken to walking away from Hermione every time she started singing the idiot’s praises, or at least ignoring her entirely if he couldn’t walk away due to them being in class or at a meal.  She was getting mightily annoyed with that, but he really couldn’t care less.  If she was going to act like an idiot, he bloody well wasn’t going to pander to her.  She was as bad as Colin with all that hero-worship, but at least the object of her obsession _liked_ the attention.

As to Colin, Harry dealt with him the first Friday of school.  Harry, along with several of the others who’d found themselves dealing with the little fan had discussed it last night and figured out how best to deal with him.  As Riddle had pointed out, that kind of devotion could easily be turned into hatred just as strong if he was snubbed badly enough.  Or it could be turned into respectful, though still obsessive loyalty if handled properly.

Harry was going for something of a middle ground, but he’d rather have someone obsessively loyal than someone – well, someone _else_ – loathing the ground he walked on.

So Harry pulled him aside in the common room that morning and discreetly raised a silencing ward around them, knowing now how exuberant the younger boy could become when talking about _Harry Potter_.

He smiled in faint amusement at the boy who was all but bouncing in his excitement about Harry drawing him aside to speak with him specifically.  “Okay, Colin, I get that you heard a lot of exciting stories about me before coming here.”  He raised a hand to keep the boy from no doubt launching into one such story when he opened his mouth.  “I’m flattered that you think so highly of me,” he said politely, which caused the boy to flush with pleasure.  “But please understand that I’m really just a twelve-year-old boy.”

Colin looked ready to defend Harry from himself, but again, Harry hurried on.

“Colin, I don’t know how I defeated Voldemort when I was a baby.  Personally, I think it was probably a spell or ritual done by my mum.  _She_ is the real hero.  But she died and I lived, so everyone liked it better to talk about me.”

Colin’s frown turned thoughtful.

“I won’t deny that I’m more powerful than most, because that’s just a fact, but please try to understand my point of view, okay?”

Colin nodded slowly.

“Like I said, I’m flattered that you like me so much, but you don’t really know me.  And there’s more kids in this school who are jealous of my fame than impressed by it.  Your rather… exuberant attention to me is making me look bad.”

Now the boy looked horrified.

Harry nodded sadly.  “So how about, instead of looking at me and seeing the famous kid you’ve built up in your mind, how about you try to get to know who I _really_ am?  How’s that sound?”

Colin looked thoughtful for a moment, then timidly asked, “You mean like… we could be… friends?”

Harry shrugged, “Maybe.  Depends on how we get along.  But I can promise you now that I can’t be friends with someone who sees me as the Boy-Who-Lived first and last.  Try to think of me as just Harry, okay?”

“…I’ll try,” Colin said doubtfully.

“Thanks, Colin,” Harry said, gripping his shoulder briefly.  “Take some time and think about it,” he encouraged.  “Let me know if you think you can do that.”

“Okay, Harry.”

Harry gave him another smile, slapped his shoulder lightly, and dispelled the silencing ward as he headed to meet a curious Ron and Hermione waiting to go to breakfast.

“What was that about?” Hermione asked cautiously while Ron flushed and refused to meet his eyes.  Ron was one of the worst for jealousy about the whole thing.

“Just trying to talk some sense into him,” Harry shrugged as they left the common room.  “He’s a good kid, but the way he’s been treating me is making me look like a stuck-up prat.  I just asked him to try to see me as just Harry and get to know who I really am.”

Hermione’s brow rose.  “That’s a good idea.”

Harry just nodded.

* * *

 

**5 September**

“I don’t believe it!” Wood hissed in outrage.  “I booked the field for today!  We’ll see about this!”

Wood shot toward the ground, landing rather harder than he meant to in his anger, staggering slightly as he dismounted.  Harry, Fred, and George followed.

“Flint!” Wood bellowed at the Slytherin Captain.  “This is our practice time!  We got up specifically!  You can clear off now!”

Marcus Flint was even larger than Wood.  He had a look of trollish cunning on his face as he replied, “Plenty of room for all of us, Wood.”

“But I booked the field!” Wood spat furiously while the girls joined them.  “I booked it!”

“Ah,” Flint smirked.  “But I’ve got a specially signed note here from Professor Snape.  ‘I, Professor S. Snape, give the Slytherin team permission to practice today on the Quidditch field, owing to the need to train their new Seeker’.”

“You’ve got a new Seeker?” Wood asked, distracted.  “Where?”

From behind the lot came a smaller figure, smirking for all he was worth.  Malfoy.

“Aren’t you Lucius Malfoy’s son?” said Fred, looking at Malfoy with dislike.

“Funny you should mention Draco’s father,” said Flint as the whole Slytherin team smiled still more broadly.  “Let me show you the generous gift he’s made to the Slytherin team.”

All seven of them held out their broomsticks.  Seven brand new Nimbus Two Thousand and Ones.

“Very latest model.  Only came out last month,” Flint said carelessly, flicking a speck of dust from the end of his own.  “I believe it outstrips the old Two Thousand series by a considerable amount.  As for the old Cleansweeps,” he smiled nastily at Fred and George, who were both clutching Cleansweep Fives, “Sweeps the board with them.”

“How clever of you,” Harry smirked while everyone else on his team seemed to be frozen staring at the brooms.

All the Slytherin’s attention turned to him with clearly malevolent intent.  Harry made a point of doing a mental litany of spells he could use to keep himself from getting killed should they all decide to attack, and didn’t let a hint of fear touch his countenance.

Their attention was drawn from him a moment later when Ron and Hermione came bustling over, Ron’s voice leading them.  “What’s happening?  Why aren’t you playing?  And what’s _he_ doing here?” he glared at Draco.

“I’m the new Slytherin Seeker, Weasley,” Malfoy said smugly.  “Everyone’s just been admiring the brooms my father’s bought our team.”

Ron’s jaw dropped as he gaped at the broomsticks.

“Good, aren’t they?” Draco said pompously.  “But perhaps the Gryffindor team will be able to raise some gold and get new brooms, too.  You could raffle off those Cleansweep Fives.  I expect a museum would bid for them.”

The Slytherin team howled with laughter, once more causing Harry to wonder about their senses of humor.  Sure, it was a decent barb, but it wasn’t _that_ funny.  He hoped they were just doing it to get under Gryffindor skins.  Otherwise it was just sad considering they were famed for cunning.

“At least no one on the Gryffindor team had to buy their way in,” Hermione intruded sharply.  “They got in on pure talent.”

Harry’s brow rose and he smirked challengingly at Malfoy, curious what the boy would do about _that_.  Of course, Harry didn’t think it was actually true.  From what some of the others said, Draco was actually a superb flyer.  Second only to Harry himself, and that mostly because Draco was saner.

The smug look on Malfoy’s face flickered, his eyes darting briefly between Harry, Hermione, and the other Gryffindors.  “No one asked your opinion, you filthy little Mudblood,” Draco replied in a rather Gryffindor display of temper, something Harry was doing his very best to overcome in favor of his more Slytherin attributes.  Slytherin Harry Potters seemed to live longer, after all, and he was so over making a fool of himself in a fit of pique.

Everyone went crazy at the slur.  Flint dove in front of Draco to keep the twins from physically throttling him.  Alicia was shrieking.  Ron drew his wand.

Harry quickly stepped out of the mess, dragging Hermione a safe distance with him, and did his best not to shake his head at the rampant stupidity in front of him.  He supposed that was what you got when you threw Slytherin and Gryffindor jocks together without supervision.  It was just a word though.  Sure, it wasn’t _nice_ to call a muggleborn that to her face, but everyone already knew Draco Malfoy wasn’t nice.  Still, they reacted like he’d cursed her.

Then Ron’s hex backfired.

Hermione leapt from Harry’s hold to crouch over the boy who’d stupidly tried to defend her honor with a wand that was falling apart with age.  The unicorn hair had been slightly exposed last year.  This year, the tip had been chipped off at some point and the crimped hair was plainly visible.

Harry grimaced when the boy started vomiting large slugs.  He kind of wanted to feel bad for his friend, but…

The Slytherins fell into fits of laughter, and this time Harry had to allow that it was warranted.  He wasn’t laughing, of course, as it was his friend, but if Malfoy had messed up like that trying to curse him, he’d have been howling – in as dignified a manner as possible, of course.

“We’d better get him to the hospital wing,” Harry sighed.

“Hagrid’s is closer,” Hermione frowned as she carefully grabbed one of Ron’s arms to help him up.

“Pretty sure he’s not a mediwizard,” Harry said mildly.

Hermione huffed, but let it go.

“Do you know what that meant?  What he called me?” she asked tentatively while Madam Pomfrey was tending to Ron.

“It’s a slur against muggleborns,” Harry shrugged.  “It refers to your blood being dirtied by your muggle parents.”

She stiffened indignantly.

“Don’t let it get to you,” Harry advised.  “It’s just a stupid word.  It can’t hurt you unless you let it.”

She frowned at him warily.  “It’s mean.”

He nodded.  “Yeah, it is.  But we already knew Malfoy was a prat and a pureblood supremacist.  Like…  Think of it this way.  Whenever someone disparages you for being muggleborn, console yourself with the knowledge that at least you’re not inbred like all the purebloods.”

She snickered at that.  “I suppose that’s true.”  Then she cut him a curious glance.  “Are they really inbred?”

Harry nodded, “Yep.  They quite frequently marry their first cousins.  Not only do they refuse to marry anyone without a pureblood pedigree, see, but they also won’t marry ‘blood traitors’.  So basically, all the dark pureblood families keep marrying each other over and over again.  Magic mostly keeps them from the most serious problems that muggles would face from inbreeding, but they still have some.  For one thing, a considerably lower fertility, which is why so many pureblood families have so few children.  It’s also probably the reason that Crabbe and Goyle are so… um, _special_.”

She giggled, but looked immensely interested.

“There’s other problems too.  The Blacks are somewhat infamous for questionable sanity.  The Malfoys are so fair of complexion that they have to use sunblock charms to spend any amount of time in the sun without burning.  The Notts are also prone to mental disorders, primarily anxiety and agoraphobia.  You ever notice how quiet and withdrawn Theodore is?”

She nodded pensively.  “How do you know all of this, Harry?”

He shrugged, “I’ve been studying it some this year.  After what happened at the end of last year, it’s pretty clear that Voldemort’s not dead,” he said quietly, glancing toward the other end of the infirmary where Madam Pomfrey was still busy with Ron, trying to get him to drink a potion between vomiting slugs.  “It made me wonder more about the details of the war, you know?  Like exactly what the purebloods have against muggleborns.”

Her eyes lit up, “Have you figured that out?  I’ve been _really_ curious about that.”

Harry nodded, “Yeah.  Apparently they don’t like muggleborns because they don’t have any respect for wizarding culture or tradition – in general, I mean.  Obviously some make more of an effort to understand.”

Hermione frowned deeply, “I don’t understand.  What culture?  You mean living in the sixteen hundreds?”

Harry sighed, “Thanks for making my point, Hermione.  Yes, that’s exactly what I mean.  The wizarding world was civilized _millennia_ before the muggle world.  Did you know that Atlantis was _real_?”

She blinked, “Really?”

Harry nodded.  “Yeah.  And there were other solely wizarding areas just like it.  Most were lost or abandoned around the time of the witch wars with the muggles.  Over the last couple of centuries, the wizarding world has made _huge_ allowances for the muggleborns.  I mean…” he sighed.  “Well, for one thing, about a hundred years ago, the Ministry of Magic told the wizarding public that they had to convert to common muggle religions or only practice in secret because they were making the muggleborns uncomfortable.”

Her jaw dropped.

He nodded grimly.  “The purebloods resent muggleborns because the purebloods have _thousands_ of years of traditions passed down through their families and some liberal politicians have chosen to sneer at those traditions just to try to integrate more muggleborns into the wizarding world.  Wizards and witches are being forced to essentially change who and what they are in order to accommodate people coming out of the muggle world.  Now, I’m not saying that it’s right for them to hate you all for it.  I think it would be much smarter to teach you than scorn you, but…” he shrugged, “they’re resentful.”

“But… the Weasleys aren’t like that,” she said weakly after a moment.

“The Weasleys are some of the very liberal purebloods who have pushed through the laws that curtail the rights of the old families to practice their traditions.  They think they’re trying to better the wizarding world by increasing our numbers with the muggleborns and by following the muggles’ example of progress, but what they’re really doing is oppressing people and breeding contempt.”

“But the purebloods aren’t any better!” Hermione said indignantly.  “They’d oppress all the muggleborns given the chance!”

Harry nodded placatingly, “I agree with you, Hermione.  I don’t think either side is right.  I think we should work on establishing a middle ground.  No one’s traditions should be stifled just for the sake of getting along.  We should learn to understand each other instead of either side trying to force their customs and beliefs on anyone else.  But that’s never going to happen unless people can take a step back and look at it objectively.”

“But, how is that going to happen?” she wondered.

Harry sighed, “I don’t know.  But we can start by not subscribing to either side’s insanity.  You’re not disgracing your heritage by taking into account the fact that maybe neither side is wrong.  That’s what I plan to do.  And I’m going to start by ignoring those kinds of slurs.  I hope you’ll consider doing it too.”

She nodded, “I’ll try, Harry.  Hey, can you show me some of the books you found this stuff in?”

He nodded.  The Hogwarts library wouldn’t have all of them, but it had some.  He really wanted Hermione to understand this, because he had come to understand the pureblood stance quite a bit.  And he didn’t want to lose her as a friend just because he sympathized with the purebloods about some things.

* * *

 

“How was your first week back at school?” Riddle inquired quietly when they’d settled in front of the fire in Riddle’s study. 

“Fantastic,” Harry chuckled humorlessly as he sipped his butterbeer – from a glass, of course, as Riddle didn’t drink from bottles on principle.  He said it was plebeian.  “A house elf kept me from getting on the train, my Defense teacher’s an idiot who wouldn’t last a minute in a duel against _me_ , and I suddenly seem to be several years more mature than all my friends.”

Riddle smirked, “Pretty standard then.”

“Yep,” Harry nodded, then laughed quietly into his glass while he stared into the fire.  After a long moment, he sighed, “I think I’m starting to see what everyone’s been saying about Ron.  I hate it, because he was the first friend my own age that I ever had, and that _means_ something to me, but…” he shook his head helplessly.  “Ron won’t even _try_ to understand why I suddenly feel the need to learn.  He doesn’t comprehend the fact that there are people – _powerful adults_ – out there who want to kill me.  I can’t afford to be a kid.”

Riddle nodded grimly.  “As you know, I won’t attempt to tell you what to do, Gryffin, but it sounds to me like you’ve already made your decision.”

Harry sighed miserably, “Doesn’t mean I’m happy about it.”  He wasn’t going to cut ties with Ron, but he wasn’t going to pander to his immaturity either.  In the end, he knew it would be the same, but there wasn’t anything _he_ could do about that.

For several minutes, they sat in silence before Harry spoke again.  “You said that you didn’t really have any friends, but Malfoy’s the closest to it.”

Riddle hummed an affirmative.

“Doesn’t Draco seem like a petty little boy, too?  I mean, the one in my world does.”

Riddle nodded, “Draco is very spoiled by his parents.  Whereas you’ve never been able to count on an adult, Draco had _always_ been able to take his problems to his father and see them almost instantly corrected.  He’s intelligent, and he deserves to be a Slytherin, but he’s never had anyone to _push_ him.”

“What do you mean?” Harry asked curiously.  One thing he loved about talking with Riddle was that the other boy had this amazing talent for explaining things in a way he’d never have even considered, and making it understandable.

“Lucius expects his son to be the perfect Dark pureblood,” Riddle explained.  “He has little patience for anything less.  At the same time, he loves his son very much and nothing infuriates him more than seeing a perceived injustice done to the boy.  This has led Draco to work toward his father’s praise – he honestly wants to do him proud – but he doesn’t really know how.  He hasn’t been pushed enough.  Then there’s Narcissa.  It takes a true blunder of etiquette in company before she’ll chastise him.

“Between the pandering and the expectations, Draco has grown up a confused boy, trying to do his family proud but not fully knowing how.  He truly does try, but without someone there to point out when he’s being foolish, he tends to not realize it.”

Harry snorted quietly, “Like calling someone a mudblood in front of the whole Gryffindor Quidditch team.”

“He _did_ that?” Riddle frowned.

Harry nodded, “Hermione attacked his pride.”

“Ah,” Riddle nodded.  “That would do it.  The one thing he cherishes above all but his family is his pride.  He’d have looked for the most hurtful response possible.  To use that slur in front of _Gryffindors_ though…” he shook his head.  “Clearly, in your world, he has not had anyone to push him properly.”

“What’s he like in your world?”

Riddle leaned back and sipped at his butterbeer for a moment.  “Well, it’s a bit different for us, as I am his Dark Prince, you understand.”

Harry nodded.

“I’ve been pushing him for years though.  Pushing him to reach his potential, and he does fairly well.  He’s intelligent and witty.  Clever.  I can hold a fairly decent conversation with him, which is not true of many people my own age.  He’s an excellent flyer, even if he is forced to use a broom.”

“Whoa,” Harry interrupted.  “What do you mean by that?  How else would you fly?”

Riddle quirked a brow at him.  “Have I never mentioned that?”  At Harry’s negative shake of the head, he frowned thoughtfully, “I suppose I’ll have to hold a class on it.  I’m speaking of flying under your own power.”

“That’s possible?” Harry’s eyes widened.

Riddle nodded.  “Father discovered the means.”

“Sign me up,” Harry said immediately.

Riddle smirked and bowed his head in agreement.


	4. Chapter 4

**November 1992**

The first two months of school passed in a blur of Quidditch practice, studying, classes, and managing impossible friendships.  Ron seemed to take personal offense every time Harry picked up a book rather than playing some game with him.  Actually, Ron even got offended when Harry chose to read rather than sprawling listlessly across the common room sofa.  Like Harry wanting to better himself was a personal affront to Ron’s moral code.

Frankly, it was bloody annoying, and Harry’s patience for dealing with the redhead’s whinging grew thinner every day.  Presently, Ron wasn’t speaking to him.  He just threw glares at Harry every time he picked up a book – particularly one that wasn’t required reading – and Harry did his best to not curse his now former friend.

Hermione didn’t seem terribly bothered by Ron’s growing distance.  She was ecstatic in Harry’s new interest in reading, and tried to draw him into academic discussions at every opportunity.  While Harry found them somewhat enjoyable – he’d even gotten her into studying arithmancy – he mostly shied away from the debates as soon as they moved beyond being academically helpful and became just an argument of opinion.  Hermione was impossible to sway without being able to cite published sources.

They did spend a considerable amount of time talking about politics though, ever since that day in the infirmary.  Hermione had discovered an interest in the pureblood versus muggleborn dynamics and history and had become obsessively determined to devote herself to finding that middle-ground solution that Harry had hinted at that first day.

Harry found it very refreshing to have someone to talk to about his conflicted and shifting ideas of it all.  Well, he had Riddle, Slyther, and Raven, whom he talked to about it fairly often, but Riddle and Slyther were firmly Dark whereas Raven was firmly Light.  Hermione was nice because she was caught in the middle-ground as well as she tried to take in all the arguments.  Well, she generally wanted to side with muggleborns, but Harry was constantly playing Devil’s Advocate and she seemed eager to rise to the challenge.

Harry’s nights, he spent attending every single class his fellow Harry’s were giving, chatting mostly with Claw and the Slytherins, having drinks and a private talk with Riddle every Saturday night, and catching up on as much of the Refuge reading material as he could while he was sleeping.

Honestly, the nights were the highlight of Harry’s days.  He was pretty sure he’d have been going spare without that time alone with the other versions of himself.  Learning had become an addiction.  Every time he mastered a new spell, or used an old one in an effective new way, he got the greatest high, and found himself eagerly searching out his next before the last had even begun to fade.

His grades had all skyrocketed to the point that both McGonagall and Flitwick had pulled him aside to congratulate him and to make sure that he wasn’t losing himself in homework because there was something wrong.  He assured them that he was just finally adjusting to life in the magical world and discovering how much he enjoyed learning magic.  They’d both been thrilled with the explanation, and took pleasure in calling on him to answer questions in class since he didn’t often volunteer, even though he knew the answers.  There was a difference, after all, between being knowledgeable and being a know-it-all.  Not that he would _ever_ mention that in front of Hermione.

Professor Snape proved to be fantastic practice for his Occlumency.  It was absolutely imperative that he utilized the skill whenever he was near the man lest he lose that carefully cultivated cool edge he’d garnered from Riddle and the other Slytherins and turn back into a Gryffindor hothead.  The potions master seemed torn between thinking that Harry was mocking him with that cool attitude and that he was planning some grand prank.  Harry did his best to ignore it and be polite.

After reading the letters exchanged between the professor and his mum, it was easier to see the potions master as something other than an enemy.

Harry had been surreptitiously watching Colin and was very pleased that the boy had stopped stalking him and generally calmed down about his impression of the Great and Mighty Harry Potter.  The younger boy had also begun emulating Harry.  He made a visible effort to act more cool and collected, and he’d taken to treating his school work as more important than the majority of the Gryffindors.

When the boy finally approached him again, it was the first week of November and Harry and Hermione were working silently side-by-side in the common room after dinner.  They’d both finished their homework and were presently reading and taking notes on arithmancy.  Well, Hermione was taking notes.  Harry’s Occlumency was getting good enough that he could store the memories of his reading in an easily accessible location rather than making a physical copy.

“Harry,” Colin said warily.

Harry looked up at the boy with a warm smile, “What can I do for you, Colin?”

“I… I was wondering if you would mind helping me with my potions essay?  Just a little bit,” he added quickly.  “There’s just some things that I didn’t quite understand…”

Harry nodded and motioned him into an armchair while Hermione smiled at him over her book, her expression clearly approving.  It turned out that Colin was having trouble understanding ingredient reactions.

“I had this same problem last year,” Harry nodded.  “Honestly, most muggleborns do, I think.  Wizarding children tend to learn this stuff before starting Hogwarts, and Professor Snape never bothers to address it.”  He suspected that it was Professor Snape’s subtle way of telling the muggleborns that they weren’t inherently better than wizards, whatever they liked to believe.  If they weren’t shrewd enough to understand the hidden message and do independent study, he probably considered that even better, as it allowed him to fail them.

Harry tore a piece of parchment from his bag and borrowed Hermione’s quill.  “Go to the library, and take this book out,” Harry instructed the boy as he finished writing and passed it over.  “It’s an excellent reference for ingredient interactions.  If you’re still confused, let me know and I’ll help as much as I can.”

Colin seemed like he was struggling to moderate his grin as he accepted the parchment scrap and stood up.  “Thanks a lot, Harry.”

“You’re welcome, Colin,” he nodded and smiled after the boy.

“That was really nice of you, Harry,” Hermione commented.

Harry turned his smile on her.  “I’m just glad he’s made so much progress since school started.  It was rather sad the way he’d built me up so much in his mind.”

“Well, you are a pretty huge celebrity,” Hermione admitted.  “Honestly, I was a little crazy about you in the beginning too.”

Harry laughed quietly, “Good thing you got over that.”

“Yeah,” she grinned.  “You saving me from the troll really convinced me that you _weren’t_ a hero.”

Harry sent her a mock glare, which she ignored, and they both went back to their reading.

Harry had taken to treating Defense class in the same manner as History of Magic.  He brought a book to read and ignored the class entirely.  Of course, Lockhart, for all he was an idiot, wasn’t as oblivious as Binns.  It was in his second class that the moron tried to pull Harry up to act out a scene from one of his stupid books.

“No,” Harry replied simply.

“Excuse me?” the idiot asked as though it was the first time anyone had ever told him such a thing.

“No, sir,” Harry corrected, keeping himself coolly polite.

“Mr. Potter…”

“Sir, this little skit you’ve proposed is an exhibition, not a Defense lesson.  As I indicated last class, I refuse to participate in your fan club.”  He pointedly ignored the glares he was getting from every female student – and some of the male ones too, distressingly.  “Now, if you would like to debate the inconsistencies in your little stories, the points that cannot possibly be fact because they are simply _wrong_ , I would be more than willing…”

“Have a seat, Mr. Potter,” the idiot said with a blinding smile.

It was the last time Lockhart spoke to him, which was nice.

By the time the first Quidditch match of the season rolled around, Harry was _seriously_ debating the merits of quitting the team.  On the one hand, Oliver’s practice schedule was so ridiculous that he found himself forgetting about enjoying being on a broom and lamenting all the reading he could be doing.  Or the _practicing_!  On the other hand, he was pretty sure Oliver would have a stroke if he quit, and most of Gryffindor would take it personally.  Quidditch was fun, but he just didn’t care that much about it anymore.  It certainly wasn’t teaching him much of anything he didn’t already know, and he couldn’t see any way that it would help to keep him alive.  And his Nimbus really had _nothing_ on the personal flight spell Riddle had taught him.

Either way, he definitely wasn’t going to quit on them without notice, so he gritted his teeth through the insane practices, and played the first game against Slytherin.  It wasn’t too bad until the Bludger went crazy.  Draco proved that he actually _was_ a good flyer, and Harry discovered a rare instance in which his mad skills on a broom actually _could_ save his life.

Not that it would have been in danger to begin with if he hadn’t been playing.

He did manage to catch the snitch.  And despite his broken arm, he hit the mad bludger with a _reducto_ as soon as the game was over and doing such wouldn’t cause them problems.  When Lockhart offered to “heal” the arm though, Harry turned his wand on his professor.

“Now, honestly, Mr. Potter!” he said in vaguely scandalized tones.  “I am more than capable…”

“You are not a licensed mediwizard,” Harry countered as steadily as he was able while holding his broken arm aloft and gripping his wand.  “If you attempt to cast a spell on me, I will consider it willful intent to harm, and I _will_ press charges.  So unless you want an assault against the Boy-Who-Lived on the front page of the _Prophet_ , _back off_!” he growled through his teeth.

The idiot stumbled back a few steps, clearly horrified by the image of the headline Harry had conjured, and Harry swiftly slipped his wand away when he saw Professor Snape approaching.  The potions master glared down at him.  “Are you going to threaten me with the media as well, Potter?” he sneered, proving his bat-like hearing was working full bore.

“Not at all, sir,” Harry grinned through the pain.  “I trust _you_.”

The professor blinked in shock at that statement.

 _Point to me,_ Harry privately congratulated himself on rendering the volatile man speechless.

Blessedly, Madam Pomfrey showed up then, grumbling about stupid games pointlessly endangering her students.  She cast a diagnostic and quickly announced that there were several breaks and that he’d have to spend the night in the infirmary.

With a silent sigh, Harry allowed his team to finally help him up and cradled his arm carefully to his chest all the way back to the castle while the twins crowed in stereo about how he’d put Lockhart in his place.  When they started talking about Professor Snape, Harry cut them off harshly, knowing the man was almost certainly within hearing distance behind them – well, hearing distance for the potions master.  The last thing he wanted was for the man to think he _had_ been mocking him with the comment.  He assured the twins that he’d actually meant that, then pointedly ignored their disbelief and mock-concerned discussion about how hard he must have hit his head.

He actually _did_ trust Professor Snape.  He trusted him to be as evil as verbally possible at every opportunity, but he also trusted that he would never willfully endanger a student’s health.  After hearing the other Harrys talk about their Professor Snapes – especially the Slytherins, but Claw too – he had no doubt of that.  And he _knew_ that the man wasn’t a dangerous incompetent like Lockhart.

Harry was just on the point of dozing off in the infirmary that night when the _pop_ of a house elf’s arrival startled him back to full awareness.

He sat up abruptly, and he knew, the moment he saw the guilt in the thing’s eyes.  He knew.  “Dobby!” he snapped, causing the elf to flinch even as Harry cast a quick silencing ward around them.  It wasn’t anything advanced, and he was sure any professor besides Lockhart – and probably some of the upperclassmen – in the school could remove or penetrate it pretty easily, but he’d know if that happened.  And as none of them were here, he only had to keep from alerting them.

“Harry Potter, sir, Dobby is sorry,” the elf trembled.

Harry took a deep breath and forced himself to calm down.  He really didn’t think the elf was acting maliciously.  It was just… tragically idiotic.  “Look, Dobby, I really do appreciate your trying to help me, okay.”

The elf looked up at him warily.  “Will Harry Potter leave school then?”

Harry shook his head, “No, Dobby.  Listen to me!” he snapped when the elf began trying to speak again.  “I understand that you think there’s a danger here.  I understand that you’re trying to protect me.  I need _you_ to understand that I’m not safe away from here either.  I’m Harry Potter.  There’s a lot of people who would like to see me dead.  Dobby, listen!” he said sharply as the elf burst into tears.

With visible effort, the elf calmed itself and looked at him again.

Harry took another breath and prayed for patience.  “Look, Dobby, I’ve been studying and training _really hard_ , okay?  So that I can face those who want to hurt me.  But the point is that I _have to_ face them.  Just staying alive is no good if I spend my life hiding.  I have to face the dangers and deal with them, but I promise you that I can and I _will_ deal with them.  If you’ll let me.”

The elf broke down again, but it was fairly short-lived before it was pulling itself together once more.  “Dobby understands, Harry Potter, sir.  Harry Potter sir is very brave.”

“Thank you, Dobby, but it’s not about bravery.  I don’t have any other choice that I can live with.  I have to face my enemies.  And I’ll either destroy them or I’ll ally with them.  I’ll figure it out, but I can’t do that hiding out in the muggle world.  I have to be here where I can learn to fight these battles.  Do you understand?” he asked gently.

“Dobby understands,” the elf nodded slowly.

“Thank you, Dobby.  Now, if there is ever anything, any danger, that you feel you _can_ warn me about, I won’t be angry if you can do it without anyone finding out.  But you have to let me decide how to deal with it.  Can you do that?”

“Yes, Harry Potter sir.  Dobby can be doing that,” said the subdued elf.

Harry smiled warmly, “Thank you, Dobby.”

The elf’s lip trembled as he was clearly fighting tears again.  After a moment, he vanished with an audible sob.

Harry sighed, praying that that was over with.

* * *

 

**8 November**

Right after breakfast on Sunday, Harry headed for McGonagall’s office with his courage and conviction screwed up as tightly as he could manage it.

“Come!” he heard her sharp voice through the office door, and pushed it open.  “Mr. Potter?” she asked with a touch of curiosity beneath her generally unyielding exterior.  “What can I do for you?”

Harry stepped into the office and closed the door behind him before facing her.  “I wanted to let you know, ma’am, that I’m quitting the Quidditch team.”

She frowned though her eyes widened a bit.  “Is this because of the incident yesterday?” she asked warily.

Only through force of will did Harry keep from snorting in response.  _Incident?  Really?  A bludger tried to kill me!_ “No, ma’am,” he answered smoothly.  “I’ve been considering this for a while, though the… _‘incident’_ may have impacted my choice to make the decision at this time.  As of now, I will serve as reserve Seeker until Oliver is able to replace me, but I won’t be attending any more practices.”

“Mr. Potter,” she said, lips tight, visibly restraining herself.  “You are an excellent Seeker.  Maybe the best since the days that your father played…”

Harry repressed a flinch, but his eye twitched slightly as she not so subtly tried to use his father against him.

She didn’t seem to notice his reaction.  “Talent like yours is quite rare.  Why would you not want to play for your house team?”

“I’m a natural flier,” Harry nodded his agreement, keeping the smug satisfaction out of his voice.  Of course he was a natural flier with an animagus form like his.  “I enjoy flying.  What it comes down to is that I have no intention of becoming a professional Quidditch player, or doing anything else that requires flight skills.  I’m not sure what I want to do after Hogwarts yet,” assuming he survived long enough to graduate, “but I know that won’t be it.  Therefore, playing for my house team serves no purpose but to consume hours every week that could be better spent studying.”

“Mr. Potter,” she interjected exasperatedly, “as of now, you are at the top of your class, with only Miss Granger in contention for the first spot.  You seem to be managing very well.”

Harry clenched his teeth and struggled to shift his mental shields and stuff the frustration behind them so he wouldn’t snap at his head of house.  “It’s not a matter of ‘managing’, Professor,” he said when he thought he could keep his voice decently even.  “I just don’t care about Quidditch anymore.  It’s taking up time that could be spent on things that matter.  I do understand that the Quidditch Cup is a matter of house pride, but it’s not worth it to me to spend twelve to _twenty_ hours a week or more practicing.

“I apologize if I’ve disappointed you,” because it was obvious that she was disappointed, “but that really is my final decision.  Thank you for your time, Professor.”

It was the beginning of a _very_ long week.  After talking to Professor McGonagall, he tracked down Oliver and informed him.  The Quidditch Captain made McGonagall’s reaction seem simply _tame._   After almost an hour of attempting to explain his decision in a manner that might make sense to the older boy, Harry finally snapped, yelled at him that he quit, and retreated to the library for the rest of the day.

The following morning at breakfast, he received a note inviting him to the headmaster’s office.

So, with rabid butterflies flitting about his stomach, Harry made his trek to see Dumbledore for the first time since he’d started hearing so many disturbing things about the supposedly kindly headmaster.

“Acid pops,” he frowned at the gargoyle, then rode the stairs up to the door.

“Come in, Harry,” Dumbledore’s voice called before he could knock.

Harry took a calming breath and stepped into the office.  He took the offered chair and declined the lemon drops and tea, which Claw was convinced were laced with mild relaxation and cheering draughts to make students more pliable.

“I hear you’ve been doing very well in your classes this year, Harry,” the old man smiled with something like pride in his twinkly eyes.

Harry didn’t let himself believe it.  There was no way so many of the others could be wrong about this man.  The only one who seemed to really like him was Flames, and Harry _definitely_ didn’t trust that prat’s estimation of anyone.  “Yes, sir,” he nodded neutrally.

“I’m glad to see you’ve picked up such a positive study ethic, Harry, but Minerva tells me that you’ve decided to quit the Quidditch team,” he frowned, slightly disapproving, but mostly concerned.  Or so he portrayed.

“That’s right, sir,” Harry said when it seemed like a response was expected.

“Can you tell me why, Harry?”

He tried to ignore the overuse of his name.  Dumbledore seemed to be making an effort to enforce a familiarity between them that just didn’t exist.  “As I already told Professor McGonagall, I want to focus on my studies,” Harry replied evenly.

Dumbledore frowned curiously, “According to what I’ve heard, you’ve been doing very well in your studies while serving as Seeker.  Is there a reason you feel the need to devote more attention to them?”

Harry considered his response briefly before deciding generic answers weren’t going to get him out of this office.  And seeing as this was Dumbledore’s fault…  “Sir, I’ve spent my entire life told that I wasn’t _allowed_ to do well in my studies,” he said baldly, feeling a thrill of vindictive pleasure when the headmaster paled.  “I’ve spent my entire life being told that I was too stupid, too weak, too much of a _freak_ to ever amount to anything.  That was the attitude that I brought with me last year, however subconsciously. 

“I’ve finally realized now that they’re wrong.  I’m not stupid.  I’m not weak.  And if I’m a freak, then it’s on my own terms.”

“Harry…” Dumbledore tried to interject, looking pathetically sad and pitying.

“No, sir,” Harry slashed his hand to cut off that line of thought.  “Voldemort is still out there.  Plenty of his Death Eaters are still out there.  I’m not an idiot.  I know that I won’t survive being ignorant.  So I’m going to learn as much as I can.  And maybe I’ll actually live long enough to worry about a career after Hogwarts.”

“Harry, my boy…”

Harry clenched his jaw to keep from responding to that with a furious _I am not your boy!_

“You’re too young to be worrying about these things…”

“Too young?” Harry asked in disbelief.  “Am I too young to die then?  At a year old, I wasn’t too young to lose everything.  Voldemort certainly doesn’t think I’m too young to kill, as he’s now proven _twice_.  No offense, sir, but it is _my_ life.  I am going to protect it by any means available.  If that means quitting your stupid Quidditch team so that I can learn things that actually matter, that is what I’m going to do.

“Personally, I find it astonishing and insulting that such a big deal has been made of me quitting an extracurricular activity in order to focus on my studies.  _In a school!_   Professor McGonagall looks at me like a disappointment.  My former teammates look at me like a traitor.  The rest of my house looks at me like I’m insane.  And now _you_ are telling me to be less mature and act more like a child.  Well, forgive me, _sir,_ but any childhood I may have had was murdered along with my parents.  It was slaughtered by those _muggles_ you made me live with.

“And the fact that you’re now looking at me with pity makes me sick!” he spat.  “I’m trying to make the best of a bad situation.  A situation that is the fault of Voldemort for killing the only people who ever gave a damn about me.  _Your_ fault for giving me to those hateful muggles.  The muggles’ fault for treating me like an ill-mannered stray dog they couldn’t be rid of.  The wizarding world’s fault for not giving a damn what became of their so-called hero.  There’s plenty of blame to go around, Professor, but instead of pointing fingers, I’ve chosen to make something of myself.  I _will not_ be rejoining the Quidditch team.

“And right now, I would like to leave.  I have studying to do.”

Dumbledore looked so sad he could have cried, but after a moment he nodded and gestured toward the door.

* * *

 

“You look like shit, Gryffin,” John noted as Harry appeared in the Refuge meeting room and transfigured his pajamas into robes. 

“Thanks,” Harry huffed with a grim smirk.  “Feel that way, too.”  He slumped into a chair between John and Slyther, which is the one he’d been taking lately.

“Do I want to know?” Slyther smirked.

Harry sighed heavily and buried his face in his hands for a moment before straightening.  “I made a fool of myself in front of Dumbledore,” he groaned.

“What’d you do?” John inquired.

“I decided to quit the Quidditch team so that I could focus on studying, and all of Gryffindor went barmy.”

“Worthless fucking lions,” John sneered.

Harry didn’t bother defending his house.  He wasn’t feeling very gracious toward them at the moment.  “Yeah.  Dumbledore called me up to his office the first morning after.  He basically tried to figure out what was wrong that I’d do that.  I tried to explain that I just wanted to make something of myself…” he shook his head.  “He got all pitying, and I lost my temper.  I ended up yelling at him, blaming him, Voldemort, and the entire world for my stupid childhood, and then basically calling him an idiot for pitying me for the situation _he_ put me in.  Then I politely told him to sod off and leave me alone.”

Slyther whistled quietly while John chuckled.  “Damn, I would’ve liked to see that,” John laughed.

“It was satisfying,” Harry admitted, “but I’m sure I’ll pay for it.  He’s probably going to be watching me a lot more closely now that he’s discovered my bitter, assertive side.”

“True,” Slyther agreed.  “There won’t be any going back to the malleable little Gryffindor after that.  I suppose you’ll just have to play the dedicated scholar now.  Let him think your willfulness is centered around your studies and nothing more.”

Harry nodded grimly.  “Yeah.  Hopefully that works.”

“All right, everyone.  Let’s get started,” Riddle interrupted when the last of them had taken seats.  “This week, Slyther has asked to start the meeting with a piece of information he’s recently learned.”  He turned his attention to Slyther.

The aristocratic boy straightened slightly in his chair.  “Well, this is something that Voldemort discovered about me just last week.  I thought it was significant enough to address it in a full meeting so that everyone could hear at the same time.”

He let his eyes trail over everyone, deathly serious.  “Since so many of you have encountered Tom Riddle’s diary this year, I think we’re all familiar with the definition of a horcrux.”

Nods circled the group.

“Well, Voldemort has recently learned that, when he attempted to kill me when I was a year old, when the Killing Curse reflected, a piece of his soul became attached to mine.  I _am_ one of his horcruxes.”

“WHAT?!” Flames all but shouted.  He was one of the few that remained vehemently opposed to Voldemort.  Raven was almost in the same boat.  Harry, Claw, and Ryff were still technically opposed to the Dark, but none of them took it quite so personally anymore.  Snape and John were neutral.  Nevertheless, everyone seemed pretty stunned.

Slyther nodded grimly.  “Yes.  I’m sure.  And I have no reason to believe it isn’t the same for everyone else except Riddle, of course, as we’ve all got matching scars.  As far as we know, that night went exactly the same for all of us.”

“Wait,” Harry said uneasily.  “So we’ve got a piece of Voldemort’s _soul_ stuck inside us?”

“Attached to our own souls,” Slyther nodded.

“How could no one know about that?” he wondered.

Slyther shrugged, “We only found out because we started sharing some dreams.  I mean, I always felt really comfortable with him.  It’s always been relaxing to be around him, but I never understood why until now.  We’re literally connected by our souls – that’s a stronger bond even than soul mates.”

“I think I’m going to be sick,” Flames muttered, and he did look rather green.  Raven just looked pale.  John was looking intrigued, no doubt trying to figure out how best to use this information to his advantage – he was the ultimate pragmatist.  Snape’s eyes had unfocused as Harry had noticed they did when his mind was moving at impossible speeds. 

It always made him wonder how that version of Harry Potter had ended up a genius.  They were all smart, but that boy was something else entirely.  He seemed to have naturally developed all of the Occlumency skills that could aid in one’s clarity of mind and memory retention – and then some.  In a way, Harry envied him.  Except for the fact that he admitted that all amiable emotions were literally beyond him.  He could fake them pretty well after years of observing others and studying psychology, but he never remembered _feeling_ them.  Harry wasn’t sure it was worth it to be a genius if that was the price you paid.  It did make him wonder though, if that lack of emotions was a result of his naturally occluded mind or his abusive childhood.

The books with information about horcruxes in the library were _very_ popular the next few days.  Luckily, the library always remained fully stocked.  Since nothing in Refuge was “real”, when a book was taken from the library, an exact copy immediately replaced it, allowing them all to study the same book at the same time.

Though Harry had already read most of those books when he’d first found the diary, he found himself reading them again now.  They were able to conclude that there was no record of a horcrux ever being placed in a human before – at least nothing available in their library.  Very rarely, a dark wizard had put one into his familiar, but never another wizard.

That was frustrating, but, happily, Slyther and Voldemort were studying the effects in their world, and Slyther was freely sharing everything they learned about the way their bond functioned.

So, over the following week, Slyther was able to pass on that they believed it _might_ be possible to remove the horcrux without killing him, which Flames and Raven were _very_ interested in learning.  Unfortunately, the only way that would _probably_ work, was if Voldemort hit Slyther with another Killing Curse.  Only Voldemort would be able to destroy his own horcrux without killing Slyther along with it.  And there really was no guarantee that Slyther would actually survive.

Of course, in their world, that was only an academic concern, as neither was all that interested in removing it.  They were more focused on the results of the bond.

“The horcrux has been attached to me for so long, that it’s become a part of me,” Slyther explained one night.  “Even if I survived losing it, there’s no guarantee that it wouldn’t do irreparable harm.  The way that we’re attached now, it would be very much like losing a piece of my own soul.  That horcrux is a part of all of us.”

Which had led to an interrogation for Riddle as everyone tried to figure out in what ways he might be different, as the only Harry Potter they knew _without_ a horcrux stuck to his soul. 

In the end, they concluded that it didn’t seem to affect personality very much.  And they all had the same animagus, so it didn’t change them on that level.  The biggest difference seemed to be that he had a _much_ cooler temper.  Apparently, he wasn’t forced to constantly occlude to prevent himself from blowing up in anger.  That must have been nice.

They also found that magic didn’t come quite as naturally to Riddle.  Though he’d been trained to control and harness it from a very young age, he’d always had to work harder for it than Slyther, for instance, who’d grown up similarly.  Riddle was intrigued by this and reported before the week was out that his father was considering the possibility of making his son a horcrux as well.

* * *

 

**December 1992**

Harry wheezed, arms wrapped around his stomach, and struggled to get control of himself.  He’d never laughed so hard in his life!  They were all gathered in the meeting room in refuge.  It was hardly recognizable.  They’d all chipped in to add their own holiday flare to it.  It was Christmas night now and they’d all been gathered for the last couple of hours, drinking butterbeer and eating junk, none of which they were _actually_ consuming, but that was okay.

They’d been lobbing jokes and funny stories back and forth for a while now.  Harry and Ryff didn’t have much to contribute.  Harry wasn’t sure of Snape’s sense of humor.  He’d just been sitting back and observing, but he never laughed and he hadn’t contributed.  Even Riddle had let his hair down so-to-speak, and was sharing funny stories about Death Eater mishaps, which tended to be hilarious and horrific in fairly equal measure.

When the hilarity at last began to taper off, Riddle caught Harry’s eye and nodded toward the door.

Harry excused himself and followed Riddle up to his study, where they settled comfortably in front of the fire.

Riddle was easily Harry’s favorite alternate version of himself.  Slyther was the next, and he’d developed an appreciation for John’s humor.  While he respected Snape’s intelligence, the emptiness in that boy’s eyes honestly unsettled him.  Like Flames, Snape was someone that Harry was very glad he’d not become.  Raven seemed nice enough, but Harry had a hard time relating to him.  Honestly, the boy’s worst memory involved hiding and letting grown-ups fight for him.  He couldn’t understand.

Ryff was okay.  Quiet though.  And the similarities between Harry and Ryff were… considerable.  They’d grown up very much the same, but Ryff had come out much shyer.  Harry got the sense that Ryff had been affected by all the Slytherins the same as him, but he was being a lot quieter about thinking things through.

“I’m trying to figure out what to do about the Dursleys,” Harry admitted after several minutes of silence.

Riddle quirked an eyebrow curiously.  “I assume that killing them isn’t an option?” he asked with a small smile though Harry knew it was a legitimate question. 

“No,” Harry said right away, then hesitantly added, “Not… not at this point.”  He was surprisingly ambivalent about the idea.  He really wouldn’t be upset if they were killed, but he didn’t know if he could actually kill someone or not.  And he knew it wasn’t worth the risk of getting caught if he did.  “I just don’t want to spend another summer locked in my room, or…  Or anything.”  Despite the lack of food, stifling heat, and infrequent access to the facilities, being locked in that little room hadn’t actually been that bad.  Well, the boredom sucked, but it was better than working like a slave and regular beatings for things like breathing.

Riddle nodded thoughtfully.  “Well, there are a couple options.  You could just leave their house and spend the summer in the muggle world.  I know you’ve attended John’s lessons, and I’m sure he’d be happy to give you any pointers you wanted.”

Harry nodded thoughtfully, though he found the idea a little unsettling.  It was kind of exciting, too.  He’d never been out from under the thumbs of adults before.  If he could pull it off, it could be fun.

“Or you could threaten them with magic if they don’t stay in line.”

“I can’t use magic during the summer,” Harry frowned.

Riddle’s brow rose.  “Hm.  I suppose we should teach anyone who doesn’t know already,” he muttered thoughtfully, then focused on Harry again.  “I can teach you how to remove the Trace from your wand.  And, of course, wandless magic is never registered.  You should do that regardless of what else you decide.”

“That would be great,” Harry nodded immediately, trying to imagine how much better his life could be if he had magic during the summers.  Those stupid muggles would be terrified of him.  “It might be more fun to stay and freak them out,” he admitted thoughtfully, “but maybe I’ll talk to John.”

Riddle nodded his approval and Harry felt an involuntary surge of pride.  He couldn’t help but respect the other boy, who was so mature and so cool all the time.  He seemed way too wise to be twelve, but that was probably something that came with being Voldemort’s son.  He’d killed for the first time at four, after all.  And a lot would be expected of him as the Dark Prince.  He’d have had to grow up really fast with those kinds of experiences and expectations.

Harry himself had grown up fast by necessity, but all he’d ever worried about before going to Hogwarts was his own survival.  It definitely wasn’t the same thing.

Harry woke up the next morning after the best Christmas he’d ever had, and it wasn’t about presents at all, since they couldn’t actually pass anything tangible through Refuge.  It had a lot to do with the comfortable companionship of the only people in the world who could truly understand and empathize with him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I've got one more chapter to post, but it'll have to wait until tomorrow because I need sleep.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Goodness, I lied. There's two more chapters to go, rather than one.

**19 June 1993**

The rest of Harry’s second year passed with highly pleasant monotony.  He and Ron continued to grow apart.  He and Hermione grew closer.  Colin turned out to be a good friend, even if he did occasionally stare at Harry in awe when the older boy used a spell above his year.  He never commented on it.  It was clear that Harry had become his role model, which made Harry a little uncomfortable, but as long as it led to the boy studying hard and being polite… well, Harry wasn’t complaining.

The Gryffindors in general calmed down about Harry quitting the Quidditch team once they realized that he was still playing.  Oliver had warned him that he wasn’t going to replace Harry as a Seeker until he could find someone better than him.  Meaning that he couldn’t force Harry to go to the practices, but Harry still played all the games.  It didn’t seem to matter though.  Harry wasn’t surprised that his skills remained sharp without all the practicing.  He’d been a natural from the first time he’d been on a broom.  That wasn’t the sort of thing that one could _forget_ how to do.  And he didn’t need to practice plays as the Seeker.  The only thing that may have suffered was his endurance and he exercised enough to keep that up.  So he and Oliver had both ended up satisfied as Harry led them to three more wins, and the Quidditch Cup despite not being more than the reserve, technically.

When it came time for exams, Harry entered them with confidence, and walked away certain that he’d scored O’s across the board.  Between his considerable skill with Occlumency and his obsession with learning, not even History of Magic felt challenging.  As far as potions went, he didn’t think even Professor Snape could find a way to give him less than an O.  His potion had been perfect and his essay had been detailed but decently concise.  That was largely helped by the potions lessons he’d been taking with John, and the extra brewing that Harry had been sneaking away to abandoned dungeon classrooms to do in his free time.

And, he now had a full two-month supply of potions packed into his trunk.

Of course, it wasn’t all work.  In place of so many hours of Quidditch practice, Harry had taken to sneaking out Sunday mornings, into the Forbidden Forest, and doing some _real_ flying in his animagus form.  There was a clearing, a short ways out, in which he’d change, then rocket through the trees for a while until he was far enough from the school to safely move above the tree line.  He usually stayed just above the trees, or shot straight up to where he could spread his wings and soar so high that anyone looking up would think him a bird. 

Sometimes he tested his broomless, wingless flight as well.  He was getting pretty good at that.  The spell _was_ really complicated, but using it wasn’t.  He’d already mastered it silently and wandlessly, which was really how it was _meant_ to be used.  Personally, he preferred to fly in his animagus form, but both were fun.

In Refuge, Harry had grown even closer to Riddle.  They spent at least an hour alone together in Riddle’s study almost every single night now, talking about things going on in their life, politics, magic, or whatever else came to mind.  Harry had come to treasure his advice as much as his calming presence, his intellect, and his knowledge.  He’d found himself looking forward to the nights when he’d be able to discuss magical theories with the other boy, and they’d even started tinkering with some minor spell creation, which had improved Harry’s overall grasp of arithmancy considerably.  He’d moved onto studying Runes now, as it was also an important part of creating some spells.

“What are you doing this summer?” Colin asked when he, Harry, and Hermione were settled into a carriage on the train home.  Ron had taken to spending time with Dean and Seamus lately, and he’d gone to sit with them when they’d gotten on the train.

Harry shrugged, “Not much.  Just keeping my head down and counting the days until September first.”

After a brief commiseration about his worthless “relatives”, the conversation turned to Colin and Hermione’s summer plans and Harry leaned back and looked out the window, trying to keep the smile off his lips as he thought about his _real_ summer plans.  He suspected that he could safely confide in Colin, who’d proved unceasingly loyal.  Hermione, however, he suspected may well write Dumbledore out of concern for him.  So he kept quiet.

When they reached London, Harry shrunk down his trunk on the train and put it in his pocket.  He said a quick goodbye to Hermione and Colin, then quickly vanished into the crowd before the Weasley matriarch could find him.  He had a feeling that she’d not want to leave him until he met his uncle, who wasn’t coming.  Harry had sent him a letter – via muggle post, by sending Hedwig to the owl post office with his letter and pay for postage – and told him not to bother picking him up because he wasn’t coming home at all this summer.  He hadn’t heard back, but he could easily imagine the party they’d thrown in response to the news.

Harry cut his way through the train station and out into Muggle London.  There, he found the first deserted alley and disapparated.  He arrived with a breathless laugh for his first successful apparation in the real world.  It was something that took a lot of power and an organized mind.  Apparation was something that many _adult_ witches and wizards were never able to master, forcing them to use floos and portkeys or things like the Knight Bus.  Harry’s ability to do it at twelve was almost unbelievable, and would have been impossible if not for the combination of his Occlumency and much higher than usual level of power.

Forcing himself to calm down, Harry left the little copse of trees in the park just outside London that he’d gone to with the Dursleys once when they’d been unable to shove him off on someone else for the day.  He went directly to the public restroom that he remembered there, grateful that it was rather late and that no one else seemed to be around.  He ducked into the largest stall and enlarged his trunk with his now Trace-free wand, then quickly pulled off his clothes.

Once he was down to his pants, he grabbed one of eighty identical potions bottles.  He grimaced at the smell that assaulted his nose when he uncapped it, but didn’t waste any time in tipping the vial back and swallowing the viscous green fluid.  As it slithered unpleasantly down his throat, he vowed to search for a better potion over the next school year, or maybe improve this one.

As soon as it was down, he felt his body begin to shift.  With a quiet gasp, he doubled over and gritted his teeth against the feeling that wasn’t _quite_ pain that surged through his body.  His joints popped as his bones grew rapidly, and lean muscles earned mostly during the last year spread out under expanding skin.

By the time it was over, he was panting, and somewhere between horrified and exhilarated by the experience.  Trembling slightly, he worked to shake the tingles out of his skin and adjust to the new proportions of his body.  When he felt like he could move without tripping himself, he looked through his trunk again and began carefully resizing his clothes to fit his now ten years’ older body.

When he was fully dressed, he stumbled out of the stall and blinked at his reflection in the mirror running above the sinks.  His hair had grown out and his face was covered in rough ringlets of black hair.  He’d expected it, but it was still astounding to see himself with _facial hair_.

With that in mind, he shuffled through his memory until he found the charms John had taught him months ago.  A few minutes later, he was free of facial hair and the hair on his head had been trimmed neatly just passed his chin.  He pulled the top back into a short tail at the back of his head, allowing the bottom to fall partway down his neck.

Then he spent a few more minutes staring at himself.  He could hardly believe that reflection was really his.  He couldn’t help but think that he looked… _good_.  His face had leaned out, leaving a handsome man in the place of the gangly boy.

When he eventually managed to yank his attention away from his reflection, he worked the complex glamor that Slyther and Voldemort had devised to cover the curse scar.  When he could see nothing more than unblemished skin, he tied the glamor off, and turned his attention to his clothes.  Enlarging them hadn’t been difficult, but he still looked like a vagabond in the rags the Dursleys had left him with.

A few transfigurations later, he was wearing a decent set of ordinary black robes and matching shoes.

He closed up his trunk and shrank it again to return it to his pocket, then spent a few more minutes staring at himself in the mirror before apparating to the yard behind the Leaky Cauldron.

It was incredibly hard to avoid grinning like a loon as he entered the inn.  He’d never in his life felt so _free_.  He was, for all intents and purposes, an _adult_!  He had two months ahead of him without answering to _anyone_!  No Dursleys belittling and beating him.  No Dumbledore watching his every move.  Not even any Harry Potter to worry about.

Since it was already getting late, Harry got a room at the Cauldron and had a meal sent up.  After he ate, he had a long, leisurely shower, then sat down to read for a couple hours.  Finally, he crawled into bed and sent his body to sleep and his mind to Refuge.

* * *

 

**22 June**

Harry almost inhaled his morning coffee when he got a look at the front page of the Prophet.  There, in glaring black letters, was the headline: **SIRIUS BLACK ESCAPES AZKABAN!**

Coughing quietly, he quickly unfolded the paper at his table in the back of the Leaky Cauldron and scanned through the article.  Most of it was drivel about how Sirius had betrayed the Potters and murdered a bunch of muggles.  Harry had long since heard all about that.  He also knew from Riddle that Peter Pettigrew had been the one to betray the Potters and frame Sirius.  Merlin, he hadn’t thought about his godfather in months.  Of course, given what he knew of Flames, he didn’t have a particularly high estimation of his godfather.  That really wasn’t any excuse to let an innocent man rot in Azkaban though.

Harry indulged in a few minutes of berating himself for being a poor godson in addition to a poor Gryffindor, and a rather disappointing Savior.  He seemed to do that more and more lately, and it bothered him a little less each time.

Shrugging off the deliberate self-recrimination, Harry tried to decide what to do about the situation.  Obviously, his godfather hadn’t broken out to try to kill him, being that he’d never been a traitor.  It was still possible that the man was looking for him, considering his relationship with Harry’s parents.

When he finished his breakfast, Harry went back up to his room and carefully locked and warded the door before lying down on the bed.  He generally avoided Refuge during the day just because it would be a bad habit to get into, letting his body languish in bed for too many hours.  Today, he decided to make an exception.  Despite not being tired, his occlumency was good enough that he was able to put himself into something like a meditative state and slip his mind into Refuge.

Once there, he went immediately to the library.  He wasn’t sure what to expect from a Sirius Black who’d spent more than a decade in Azkaban, but he knew that he wanted to at least talk to the man.  He’d decide what to do from there.  But first he had to find him.

* * *

 

**29 June**

It had taken two days and Riddle’s help, but Harry had found what he needed.  A potion capable of leading a person directly to another.  The potion was so old that any name it may have had had been lost.  He’d found it in a book where the author had discovered the ancient potion, but had been unable to discover a name for it.  That book was almost eight hundred years old, meaning that the Founders or even Merlin may have used this potion.

Currently, Harry was camped out in a wizarding tent he’d bought.  It contained a potions’ lab, which was what he’d used to brew the potion.  It took about twelve hours to brew.  The real difficulty had been in locating the ingredients, some of which were _highly_ restricted, such as the Dragon’s Blood and Unicorn tears.  Though he’d spent an entire day searching some really shady apothecaries, and using some less than legal spells to get around the fact that he wasn’t licensed to buy the ingredients, he’d done it.  And now he’d brewed the NEWT level potion after only four exploded cauldrons and three useless results that hadn’t exploded.

Harry poured a vial of the potion into a shallow bowl and carefully floated atop it a picture of Sirius Black that he’d cut from the Prophet.  After taking a deep, bracing breath, Harry leaned over the potion and spoke so that his breath blew across the picture and surface of the potion.  “Sirius Orion Black.”  Into that name and that breath, Harry imbued all that he knew of the Sirius Black in this world on a gentle caress of magic.

The potion immediately shimmered from pale violet to silver as the picture sank into it and dissolved away almost instantly.  Pleased that it had worked as it was supposed to, Harry palmed a bezoar in one hand – just in case – and drained the bowl into his mouth with the other, swallowing it down as quickly as possible to avoid tasting it any more than necessary.

He felt momentarily dizzy, and then an awareness blossomed in the back of his mind.  It was faint, but it was definitely pointing him to the north.

With a grin, Harry quickly packed up his tent and launched himself into the sky.  When he was high enough, he transformed into his animagus form, which was capable of flying much faster and with less effort than the spell allowed.  He set off toward the north, following that sensation in his mind that grew gradually stronger all the time.

Harry knew that that potion was twelve kinds of Dark, but it wasn’t like he’d killed any sentient creatures in order to make it.  It seemed stupid that something like that would be considered illegal by the Ministry.  Indeed, it seemed that the Ministry handicapped itself by refusing to use viable magicks.

An hour later, that vague sense in the back of his mind had become a pounding beacon, and Harry was sure that he must be right over him.  With anticipation for the meeting singing in his veins, Harry changed back into his human form and let himself freefall.  He enacted the flight spell when he neared the ground and slowed himself abruptly to a comfortable landing.

He turned slowly to face the direction that the potion was pointing.  He was in a field now, with the potion directing him to a nearby copse of trees.  He was nearly to the edge of the trees when he heard a quiet growling.  His eyes quickly located the grim crouching in the bushes and he smiled.

“Hello, Mr. Black.”

The dog instantly flinched back at the sound of his name, then turned and bolted.

“Sirius!” Harry shouted after him to no effect.  “Padfoot!” he tried instead.

The dog’s reaction was immediate.  He slid to an unsteady halt and turned wide eyes on Harry.

After a moment, he transformed into a man who looked quite similar to the picture in the paper – albeit slightly less insane as he wasn’t laughing like a maniac.  “Who are you?” he man demanded in a ragged voice.

“Harry Potter,” Harry replied.

Sirius jerked back incredulously.  “Harry’s just a kid!  What are you playing at?”

Harry frowned, then remembered the aging potion.  “Right,” he chuckled.  “Sorry, I’m using an aging potion.  I’m really just shy of thirteen.”

Sirius stared at him cautiously, then took a few slow steps forward, squinting at his face skeptically.  “You do look something like James…” he muttered, “and you’ve got Lily’s eyes, but…”

Harry silently and wandlessly dispelled the glamor over his scar and pushed back his hair so that the man could see it.

Sirius’ jaw dropped.  “Harry,” he gasped, then started to rush forward as though to embrace him.

Harry took a couple of hasty steps back and held up his hands to ward the man off.  “Easy there, Black,” he said cautiously.

Sirius stopped and blinked uncertainly, then understanding lit his eyes.  “No, Harry.  I- I didn’t.  You’ve got to believe me.  I would never have betrayed James and Lily.  I loved them!”

“No, I know that,” Harry promised.

“You do?” Sirius frowned.

Harry nodded slowly, “Yes.  I know that it was Peter.”

Sirius sagged as though a huge weight had just been lifted from his shoulders.  Then his face hardened.  “That filthy rat killed them!  But I found him!  I’m going to kill him.”

Harry chuckled quietly.  Evidently Sirius was not _entirely_ sane.  That was fine.  He’d spent enough time around John to be comfortable with less than completely sane people with homicidal tendencies.  “That sounds like a reasonable plan,” Harry allowed.  “Why don’t we talk about it over tea, yeah?”

Sirius blinked at him.  “Wait, how did you find me?”

Harry smirked and shook his head.  “Over tea,” he said again, then pulled his tent out of his pocket and enlarged it before placing it on the ground at the edge of the trees.  He tapped it with his wand and it immediately set itself up.  He put a quick concealing ward around the tent to ensure that they wouldn’t be spotted, then gestured for Sirius to follow him inside.

He was just setting out tea in the sitting area when Sirius cautiously ducked inside.  Taking another look at his godfather, Harry decided he’d just as well give the poor man some food.  With that in mind, he found one of the meals he’d made previously and put under stasis and added that to the table.

Sirius didn’t need more than a gesture of welcome to sit down and devour the meal.  Harry made more tea when Sirius had consumed his third cup.

“You’re using magic,” Sirius finally comprehended as Harry banished the dirty dishes to the kitchen to wash themselves.

Harry nodded, “A potion and minor ritual to remove the Trace from my wand.  Took care of it before last term ended.”

Sirius stared at him as though trying to see through the adult face to the child he expected.  “How’d you find me?” he finally asked again.

“A potion,” Harry admitted.  “It’s rather ancient and extremely rare these days, but I managed to dig it up.  Once it was set to you, it worked something like a… constantly active point-me in my head.  From there, it was just a matter of following the direction until I reached you.”

Sirius blinked at him slowly, then finally said, “You’re here alone.”

Harry nodded again.

“Does your family know where you are?”

Harry sighed briefly, “My ‘family’ doesn’t care where I am so long as it is nowhere near them.”

Sirius reared back as if struck despite Harry’s mild tone.  “What?” he gasped.  “Why wouldn’t they care?  Who are you living with?”

“Until going to Hogwarts, and for the summer after my first year, I lived with Vernon and Petunia Dursley.”

“Tuney?” Sirius said with a sneer is disgust.  “How in Merlin’s name did you end up with Tuney?  She _hated_ Lily!”

“Oh, I’m well aware of that.  She never missed an opportunity to tell me all about all how much she loathed her sister.”  He shook his head, noticing the homicidal light growing in his godfather’s eye.  “Sirius,” he said sternly.

The man still looked angry, but he did focus on Harry again.

“If anyone is going to get revenge on the Dursleys, it will be me.  Please, stay away from them.”

Sirius didn’t look happy about it, but he nodded.  “How did you know that it was Peter?” he asked after a minute.

Harry rolled his shoulders and leaned back in his chair.  “For now, I’ll just say that I have excellent resources.”

Sirius frowned, clearly not happy with that explanation.

“Sensitive secrets, Sirius,” Harry said pointedly.  “You’re my godfather and I know that you didn’t betray my parents, but that doesn’t mean that I’m ready to trust you.  Sorry.”

Sirius sighed heavily.  “Yeah.  I guess you don’t really know me, huh?  Well, is there anything you want to know?” he asked hopefully.

“I’ve pieced together a good bit about you so far.  You were best friends with my father in school, along with Remus Lupin and Peter Pettigrew.  You called yourself the Marauders and were infamous for your practical jokes.  You were unofficially disowned by your mother when you were sixteen, but it was never made official, making you the present Lord of House Black.  You became an Auror after graduating, along with my father, and you all, along with my mother, were members of Dumbledore’s Order of the Phoenix, fighting against Voldemort…

“Ah, let’s see…  You’re all animagi.  You’re a dog, my father was a stag called Prongs, Peter was a rat called Wormtail.  Remus was a werewolf called Moony.  Your school-time nemesis was Severus Snape, the present Master of Potions and head of Slytherin House at Hogwarts.”

Sirius was staring at him with very wide eyes.  “How could you possibly know all of that?” he breathed.  “ _No_ one else knew about our animagus forms.  And Remus…”

Harry gave him a small smile.  “A few sources, one of which were a series of letters my mother wrote to Snape during school, though of course she didn’t mention your animagus forms in those.  It’s not really important right now.”

Sirius looked disgruntled, but Harry went on before he could complain.

“How about I tell you a little about me?”

Sirius blinked, then nodded eagerly and leaned forward in his chair as though to avoid missing anything.

Harry gave him a soft smile.  “Well, I was sorted into Gryffindor, though I readily admit to more than a few Slytherin tendencies.”

Sirius frowned at that.

Harry shrugged, “The Hat wanted to put me in Slytherin, but I refused, so I ended up in Gryffindor.  Anyway, let’s see.  I’m reserve Seeker for the Quidditch team, but as there isn’t a regular Seeker, I end up playing all the games.”

“Wait,” Sirius interrupted.  “If there’s no regular Seeker, then why are you reserve?”

“Because I got sick of the long practices – as a Seeker, there’s not really much to do during practice except flying above everyone.  Anyway, I quit the team, but offered to remain as a reserve until I could be replaced.  Only the Captain refused to replace me until he could find someone _better,_ and I’m probably the best flier in the school, so…” he shrugged.  “Anyway, my two best friends are muggleborn Gryffindors.  Hermione Granger and Colin Creevey.  We catch some flak for having rather Ravenclaw tendencies.  We all spend ridiculous amounts of time in the library, and are usually reading or debating magic or politics in the common room when we’re there.”

Sirius blinked at him slowly.  “Sounds like you take after your mum.”

Harry smirked, “Maybe.  Learning is my greatest hobby.  All forms of magic, really.  We devote a lot of time to studying history and politics, too.  We’re all at the top of our classes, though Colin’s a year behind Hermione and me.  My best class is Defense.  Second is probably transfiguration.”

“James was the best in Transfiguration,” Sirius grinned.

“So I’ve heard,” Harry chuckled.  “Animagi by your fourth year…  Pretty impressive.”

Sirius grinned, “You could probably learn if you tried.”

Harry smirked, “I’ve already done.”

“What?” Sirius asked uncomprehendingly, then his eyes widened.  “You’re already an animagus?  What’s your form?”

Harry eyed him for a moment.  “If I tell you, I have to have your word that you won’t ever tell anyone without my permission.  Even Dumbledore.”

Sirius frowned, but nodded.  “Of course, pup.”

Harry chuckled at the term of endearment.  “It might actually be better if you just give me a wand oath,” Harry decided and passed his wand over the table.

Sirius blinked at it, then sighed and nodded.

“To not tell the form or even that I am an animagus,” Harry qualified.

Sirius nodded again and gave the oath before passing back the wand.

Harry stared at him briefly, then stood.  “Come on.  It’d probably be better if I showed you.  You’d never believe it otherwise.”

“Why do we have to go outside?” Sirius complained as he stood up and stretched his back when Harry made for the door.

Harry laughed, “Because I don’t want to destroy my tent.”  He led the way outside, and instructed Sirius to wait by the tent while he paced a safe distance away.  Then he transformed.

Sirius actually fell over, which made Harry laugh until flames came out of his nostrils before he changed back.

“You okay, Sirius?”

“D…d…  You’re a _dragon_?” he finally gasped, his eyes as wide as they’d go.

“Seems like it,” Harry nodded.

Sirius shook his head, “But that’s not possible.  There hasn’t been a magical creature animagus since the time of the Founders!”

“Well, then I’d say the world was due,” Harry said jovially, bending to offer his godfather a hand up.

Sirius still looked stunned when they returned to the table.

“Come on, Sirius,” Harry chided.  “I survived the Killing Curse when I was a year old.  I’m anything but normal.”

Sirius barked a brief laugh at that, and nodded.  “Yeah, I suppose you’re right, pup.”  He frowned.  “We’ll need a nickname for you, I guess.  What about Flame?”

Harry grimaced, “Definitely not.”

Sirius pouted slightly.

Harry sighed.  “It’s not really related to my animagus form, but I sometimes go by Gryffin.”

Sirius nodded slowly, “I guess that’ll work.”

“So glad you approve,” Harry smirked.

“So…  What electives are you taking next year?” Sirius asked after a minute of silence.

“Care of Magical Creatures, Arithmancy, and Ancient Runes,” Harry admitted.

Sirius frowned and muttered, “Definitely take after your mother.”

Harry just smirked.  “I thought about taking Muggle Studies as an easy O since I was raised by the vermin,” he admitted thoughtfully, “but I decided I didn’t want to have to deal with the extra classes and homework.”

Sirius frowned uncertainly, “Vermin?”

“Oh, I’m aware that some of them are decent enough,” Harry waved dismissively.  “My best friends are muggleborn, remember.”

Sirius nodded.

“My personal experience with muggles is less than pleasant, however.”

They lapsed into silence a bit longer.  Harry was finding it surprisingly enjoyable to talk to someone who wasn’t Harry Potter for a change.

“Why the aging potion?” Sirius finally wondered.

Harry smirked, “I’m in hiding.”

Sirius blinked.  “From Tuney’s family?”

“Ha!” Harry said derisively.  “As though they’d ever look for me.  They didn’t even ask questions when I told them I wasn’t coming back for the summer.”

“Death Eaters, then?” Sirius asked uneasily.

Harry waved that idea away.  “No.  I’ve not had any trouble with Death Eaters so far.  No, I’m hiding out from Dumbledore and the Ministry, actually.”

Sirius’ jaw fell open slightly.  “Why?” he finally managed.

Harry lifted an eyebrow that questioned his godfather’s intelligence.  “Dumbledore was the one who put me with the Dursleys and insisted that I go back for the summers despite my protests.  If he found me, he’d send me back there.  The Ministry…” he shrugged.  “I have a feeling that they’d be less than accommodating to know their precious Boy-Who-Lived was living alone for the summer.  Not to mention all the laws I’m breaking with using underage magic, my unregistered animagus form and what-not.”

Sirius smirked at that.  “I’ll admit, you’re not what I expected, Gryffin, but I can definitely appreciate your style.”

Harry grinned in return.

“So I’m getting the sense that you’re not crazy about Dumbledore,” Sirius noted after a few seconds of silence.

“I should think you wouldn’t like him much either,” Harry pointed out.  “He did leave you to rot in Azkaban without a trial for twelve years, after all.”

Sirius frowned as though he’d not really considered that. 

“He’s the head of the Wizengamot, Sirius,” Harry sighed.  “If he’d given a shit, he could have made sure you had a trial.  He should have done that much, even if he was convinced that you were guilty.”

“I wonder why he didn’t,” Sirius half-frowned, half-scowled.

“Probably because he was worried that you might be innocent and get custody of me when he wanted me with the Dursleys.”

“But why would he want that?”

Harry sighed.  Maybe being slow on the uptake was a side effect of his years in Azkaban.  “Because if I lived with the Dursleys and endured their abuse all my life, it would make me timid and easily controllable,” he pointed out.

“Doesn’t seem like it worked,” Sirius noted.

Harry shrugged, “It did in the beginning.  It wasn’t until last summer that I started to really think about things.”

“What changed?”

“I made some new friends,” Harry admitted.  “They had some different perspectives than I was used to, and it forced me to think about things I’d always taken for granted.”

“Like what?”

“Like the fact that the world is not black and white,” Harry said quietly.  “There are always shades of gray.  In everything.  There is generally no such thing as right or wrong unless you’re willfully blind to any number of contributing factors.  There’s a degree of right in every wrong and wrong in every right.”

Sirius was studying him warily now.  “What do you mean?” he asked cautiously.

Harry sighed.  “All right.  This is a little bit of an extreme example, but it’s the one that I was given to first get me thinking.  Imagine that there were a hundred people of varied ages, races, and background, magical and muggle, etc.  And all of these people were infected with a deadly illness that would soon kill every single one of them.  The only chance of survival lies with a single baby.  That baby’s blood contains something that can be used to produce a cure and save every one of those hundred people.  The only catch is that creating the cure will kill the baby.”

Sirius was staring at him with wide eyes.

“So, what’s the right decision?  Save the baby and let a hundred people die, or kill a baby to save a hundred people?”

“But…” Sirius complained.  “There has to be another way…”

“There’s not,” Harry said firmly.  “This scenario assumes that every other avenue has already been explored and discarded.  You must make a choice.  The life of a single baby or the lives of one hundred random people.”

“That’s an impossible choice!” Sirius insisted.

“Yet someone has to make it,” Harry pointed out.  “If you just bury your head in the sand and wish the problem away, you’re making the choice to let those people die.  Someone has to decide between one innocent life and a hundred mixed lives.  _That_ is proof that you can’t always see the world in black and white.  If you look beyond the surface of things, you’ll quickly find that there are shades of gray in everything.”

Harry gave Sirius a few minutes to absorb that, then added casually.  “Take Dark magic, for example.  Is it all completely evil, never to be used?”

“Yes!” Sirius said immediately.

Harry lifted his brow.

Sirius flushed slightly, then asked plaintively, “Isn’t it?”

Harry chuckled, pleased by the small concession his godfather had made to even ask that question.  “The potion that I used to find you is considered Dark.”

Sirius’ eyes widened.

“The blood wards that Dumbledore used to protect my aunt’s house all these years are considered dark magic.  The sacrificial ritual that my mother almost certainly used to protect me from the Killing Curse when I was a baby is considered _black_ magic.”

Sirius swallowed hard.

“Shades of gray,” Harry pointed out.  “For every rule, there is an exception.  Hell, for every _exception_ there is an exception.  Dark magic is as subjective as Light magic.  Both are tied heavily into the intent of the caster.  A _Cheering Charm_ could be considered as bad as the Imperius if you used one powerful enough that the subject wasn’t in any mind to stop and think that stepping off that cliff was a bad idea until they’d done it.  A _Tickling Hex_ or a _Pleasure Charm_ could be as maddening as the Cruciatus if they’re powerful enough and applied for long enough.  A _Levitation Charm_ could be as deadly as the Killing Curse if used to levitate someone to a height and drop them or to drop something heavy on top of someone.

“Conversely, the Killing Curse could painlessly end the suffering of a terminally ill individual.  The Imperius could be used to give the mentally ill a more normal life.  The Cruciatus, if used with the proper numbing elixir, could treat certain kinds of nerve damage.

“My point, Sirius, is that making a list of spells, rituals, or potions, labeling them dark, and making them illegal is pointless and idiotic.  What matters is intent.  Believe me, even muggles are capable of insanity-inducing torture, mind control, and delivering almost instant death, and they have no magic at all.”

Sirius sighed heavily and leaned forward the thump his forehead heavily against the table and leave it there.  “My head hurts.”

Harry chuckled and patted his godfather on the shoulder.  “That’s enough of that for now.  Come on,” he moved around the table and gently pulled his godfather to his feet.  He steered him toward a door at the back of the room.  “Here’s the bathroom.  Have a bath, get cleaned up.  There’s clean robes on the counter.  They might be a little big on you, but I’ll resize them when you come out.”

Sirius turned around suddenly a seized him in a tight hug.

Harry stiffened, but allowed it, resting his hands gently on his godfather’s back.

“Thank you, Harry,” Sirius breathed.  “For finding me.  For believing in me.  For… everything.”

“Hey, what are godsons for?” Harry chuckled as he gently pried his godfather off him and steered him into the bathroom.

While Sirius was in the bathroom, Harry settled down on the sofa with a book on runes.  He figured he could probably pass the third year exams for the class by now, and maybe the fourth year exams for arithmancy.  He was a year or two ahead in all of his other classes, too.  It was going to make for a boring year, but he had plenty of others things to learn.  At least he knew he’d be at the top of his class and homework should be a breeze.  He was going to have to tell Hermione and Colin the truth soon though, he realized.  He was getting too far ahead.  Unless he wanted to fake ineptitude, his two closest friends would catch on soon that something was going on with him.

He was pulled from his thoughts when Sirius appeared almost three hours after going into the bathroom.  “I was starting to wonder if you’d drowned,” he smirked as he set his book aside, noting the page mentally, but not bothering with a bookmark.

Sirius still looked scruffy and way too slender, but he was _much_ cleaner, and happier than Harry had seen him yet.  Harry drew his wand and a couple of quick charms had Sirius cleanly shaven, his hair trimmed neatly to the middle of his back, and his robes fitting him properly.

Sirius blinked at him.  “Okay…” he said slowly, “I know that you look twenty-three, but you’re not really, right?”

Harry laughed at him.  “I’ve been using those charms all summer.  I’m quite good with magic, you know?”

“I’ve noticed,” Sirius nodded.  “Animagus at _twelve_ , living on your own, brewing illegal potions…”

Harry smirked at him.  “Don’t forget master Occlumens and Legilimens.”

“Seriously?”

Harry nodded mildly.  “I had excellent teachers.”

“The ones who make you think about shades of gray?” Sirius asked shrewdly.

“The same, and no, I’m not talking about that today.  For now, I wonder if you’d want to discuss Peter?”

Sirius instantly scowled.

“I’ve no problem if you want to kill him,” Harry admitted, “but it will be much harder to prove your innocence if you do.”

The man’s scowl slipped slowly into a frown as he unwillingly saw the reason in that.

“I was rather hoping you might be able to take legal custody of me if you were exonerated,” Harry admitted.

Sirius’ eyes widened.  “Really?  You…  You don’t even know me…”

“Well, I’m quite certain that you’re better than the Dursleys,” Harry pointed out, and privately added that Harry was old enough now that he wouldn’t end up like Flames from spending too much time with his godfather.

Sirius blinked a few times, then sighed and sunk down into an armchair near Harry.  “Yeah, I suppose that’s obvious.”

“And it will keep me out of Dumbledore’s and the Ministry’s hands,” Harry added.  “I’m not going to lie to you, Sirius.  I am fiercely independent, way too old for my age, and not looking for a parental figure.”  However much he envied Riddle, he wasn’t naïve enough to think he could just acquire a father at this point.  Certainly not in the form of Sirius Black.  “I’m not even sure how well we’ll get along, since we’ve yet to see how our personalities mesh.  I do think you’re the best option that I have at the moment, and I would be interested in getting to know you.”

Sirius looked a little sad, but not a lot surprised.  “It probably has something to do with the aging potion,” he admitted, “but just knowing you a few hours, I have a hard time thinking of you as a kid.  So, you’re not looking for a parent, but maybe… an older brother?”

Harry smiled, “I would be happy to be your older brother, Sirius.”

His godfather barked a laugh.  “Going by maturity, you might be dead on there.”

Harry softened his smile.  “So.  About the rat.”

Sirius sighed heavily, “Yeah…  I saw a picture of him in the Prophet.  He was posing as a pet rat to the Weasley family.”

Harry’s eyes narrowed.  “Scabbers.”

Sirius gasped.  “Oh, Merlin.  You know the Weasleys, don’t you?  I didn’t even think about that.”

Harry nodded grimly.  “Yes.  Scabbers used to be Percy’s pet, but he got an owl when he made prefect in his fifth year and gave the rat to Ron, who’s in my year.  Ron was my friend in first year, but we drifted apart last year.”

“Why?” Sirius wondered.

Harry shrugged dismissively, “He’s jealous of my fame and he loathes any form of schoolwork.  When I started cracking down on studying last year, he lost patience with me.  That’s fine though.  Colin’s much better company.  I do like Ron’s older brothers though.  The twins.  They’re probably a lot like the Marauders were.  Unrepentant pranksters.  Back to our problem though…  I think that you should let me handle Wormtail.”

“No!” Sirius said immediately.  “He could hurt you, Harry!”

Harry rolled his eyes, “I may only be a third year, Sirius, but I’m probably one of the best duelers in the school – if not _the_ best.  Besides, if he seems to be getting the better of me, I’ll just turn into a dragon and eat him.”

Sirius bit off a laugh and attempted to remain firm.  “Really, Harry, I can’t let you do that.”

“And I can’t let you go anywhere near Hogwarts,” Harry countered.  “The whole world thinks you broke out of Azkaban to kill me.  That’s exactly where they’re going to expect you to be.”

“Harry, I was an auror.  I broke out of Azkaban.  I’ll be fine…”

“Sirius, he has no reason to suspect me,” Harry interrupted.  “He’s been sleeping in the same dorm as me for the last two years.  All I have to do is wait until everyone is asleep and stun him.  _I_ will be fine.”

They glared at each other for a long moment.

Finally, Sirius sighed and sank back into his chair.  “What are you going to do with him once you have him?”

Harry smiled at having won, but didn’t rub it in.  “I figured I’d sneak out of the school, apparate to London, and leave him gift wrapped on the Ministry’s doorstep.”

Sirius blinked at him, then said flatly, “You can apparate.”

Harry’s smile turned into a smirk.  “Of course.”

Sirius rolled his eyes, “I can’t believe I’m surprised by that.”

Harry laughed good-naturedly.


	6. Chapter 6

**4 July**

Sirius Black was fun, Harry decided over the course of their first week together.  He had a good sense of humor, was generally laid back about most things, and was delightfully easy to rile.  He even proved a decently competent potions’ assistant when Harry roped him into helping brew a series of nutrient and growth potions to help Sirius return to his pre-Azkaban physique.  He wasn’t the most enthusiastic assistant, but he was competent enough.

Harry was actually impressed that the man made it five days before demanding an explanation of Harry’s mysterious “teachers”.  After a long moment of thought, Harry bound the man to an Unbreakable Vow, then sat him down in the lounge.

“Okay, before I explain, I need you to keep a wide open mind,” Harry said firmly.  “Because it involves some elements that I’m quite sure you’re going to be instinctively resistant to.  Can you do that?  Try to trust my judgment over your prejudice?”

“I’ll try,” Sirius nodded warily.

Well, Harry figured that was the most he could expect.  He took a deep breath, and started.  “Okay, it began on the night after my twelfth birthday, a year ago.  I went to sleep in my tiny bedroom at the Dursleys just like any other night, but almost immediately woke up into something like a dream – except that it wasn’t a dream.  It was actually more like astral projection.”

Sirius blinked and his brow furrowed, but he didn’t interrupt.

“I assume you’ve heard theories about parallel universes?”

Sirius nodded slowly.

“Well, the Harry Potter in one of these other universes had been studying the theory.  As a birthday gift, his ridiculously powerful adoptive father managed to create a small pocket realm connected to that Harry’s soul and magic.  It is a place kind of like a mindscape.  It’s possible to affect it through will alone, but it seems tangible, and it’s even possible to work magic there just like here.”

“You’re serious?”

Harry nodded.  “Absolutely.  From that pocket realm, which we call Refuge, that Harry Potter – nicknamed Riddle, for his surname – was able to reach out to parallel realms and observe other incarnations of himself.  In doing so, he discovered that an alarming number of us in other universes were already dead by twelve years old.  Disturbed by that revelation, Riddle decided to do what he could to keep more of us from dying young.  To that end, he linked seven more incarnations of himself to that pocket realm.  When we went to sleep, we found ourselves waking up there, where he explained what it was and what purpose it held.

“In addition to Riddle – who is a Slytherin – there were two Ravenclaw Harry Potters, nicknamed Raven and Claw.  There were three Gryffindor ones, including myself.  The others are Ryff and Flames.”

Sirius’ eyes widened at the last nickname.

“Yeah,” Harry grimaced faintly.  “I’m not a great fan of Flames.  He’s a bit of a prat – way too full of himself, and not much for taking anyone else’s opinion into consideration.  Anyway, there were also two other Slytherins in addition to Riddle.  They’re called Slyther and John.”

Sirius blinked bemusedly at the last name.

“He said that it was an alias he used.  Anyway, there weren’t any Hufflepuff Harry’s as evidently all of them that Riddle had found had been killed in their first year.”

Sirius blanched.

Harry nodded.  “Too trusting, I guess.  So yeah, all of us Harry Potter’s at Refuge had the same start.  All of our universes were identical up to the point when mum and dad were killed.  Only after that did they begin to diverge.  Raven was raised by Augusta Longbottom.  Slyther was raised by Bellatrix Lestrange.”

Sirius paled even further.

“It gets better,” Harry promised.  “Riddle was raised by Voldemort.”

“Okay, now I know you’re pulling my leg,” Sirius complained.  “Why would Voldemort or Bellatrix raise you… them… whatever!”

Harry chuckled.  “Well, in Slyther’s world, Bella evidently decided that she could serve her Lord by training Harry, raising him to be Dark.  And, once she got her Lord back, she figured she could give Harry to him to kill if that was his wish.  In that world, Voldemort was resurrected when Slyther was eight years old, and after getting to know Slyther, he made him his heir since he was so powerful and quite loyal by that point. 

“In Riddle’s world, Voldemort killed mum and dad, but instead of turning the Killing Curse on Riddle, he decided to raise him in his own image.  No doubt you’ll find it difficult to believe, but Riddle is actually very close to Voldemort.  He calls him father and loves him as much as any son has ever loved his father.”

Sirius looked vaguely sick at that.

Harry shrugged, “We made an agreement that first night to not judge each other.  So there are Dark Harry Potter’s like Riddle and Light Harry Potter’s like Flames existing together in relative peace.”

“Which category do you fit into?” Sirius asked cautiously.

“Gray,” Harry said without hesitation.

Sirius nodded slowly.  He didn’t look happy about it, but he’d likely expected it given the conversations they’d had over the last few days.

“Anyway, Claw, Ryff, me, and John were all raised by the Dursleys.  Claw fought against their abuse by becoming a Ravenclaw, essentially.  They wanted him ignorant, so he learned everything he possibly could just to spite them,” he smirked.

Sirius smirked a little, too.

“Ryff’s life was almost exactly like mine up to first year except that he turned out shyer, quieter, maybe a little darker, but he hides it well.  And John…  Well, he evidently killed the Dursleys in their sleep when he was eight.”

Sirius was staring at him with utter disbelief.

“I got the sense that they were worse to John than they were to me,” Harry admitted grimly.  “He’s not entirely sane, but he is very entertaining.  So, yeah, he killed them and burned down the house, then lived on the streets until he stared Hogwarts.  He was actually the one who taught me how to brew the aging potion and everything else I needed to live like an adult.”

Sirius swallowed hard.  “Wait,” he frowned, “You didn’t say how Flames grew up.”

Harry grimaced faintly.  “Yes, well…  He actually grew up with… you.”

Sirius blinked.  “I raised an opinionated prat?”

Harry nodded.

Sirius considered that for a moment, then sighed, “I really wasn’t ever cut out to be a father.”

Harry patted his shoulder in commiseration.  “Don’t worry.  I’ve no doubt you’ll make a splendid younger brother.”

Sirius huffed a quiet laugh.

“Anyway,” Harry went on.  “So, each Harry that had a unique skill started teaching it to the others after that night.  I had at least one lesson there every night, though I’m mostly caught up to the others in a lot of areas now.  I even surpass a few of them in some areas.”  He frowned then.  “Except for Snape.  No one’s better than him at anything.”  Snape had already read and memorized his way through the entire Refuge library and could duel about as well as Riddle.

“Snape?” Sirius sneered incredulously.

Harry nodded, “Yeah.  Riddle brought him in about a month after the rest of us.  Apparently, he’s some kind of super genius.  He’s a Slytherin, too.  In his first year, he managed to endear himself to Severus Snape enough that he became Severus’ legal ward that summer.  Oh, Snape lived with the Dursleys, too.  He killed them when he was nine, but it was accidental magic in his case, and he went to an orphanage afterward.”

Sirius sighed heavily, “So two of these other versions of you killed the Dursleys?”

Harry nodded again.  “Snape was being beaten to death when it happened, so I hardly blame him.”

Sirius paled.  “They didn’t…  They didn’t do that to you, did they?”

“Nothing that severe,” Harry shrugged, then narrowed his eyes when Sirius started looking homicidal again.  “Don’t forget, Sirius, that revenge against them is mine.”

Sirius frowned warily.  “Are you…”  He swallowed.  “Are you _planning_ to…”

Harry shrugged, “Maybe.  I haven’t really decided yet.  Most likely I’ll just ignore them as long as I never have to see them again.”

Sirius shuddered slightly.

“So…  Between all the other Harrys’ lessons, I learned to be an animagus.  I learned to apparate, occlumency and Legilimency, Dark Arts…”

“ _What_?” Sirius almost yelped.

Harry just lifted an eyebrow.  “Yes, Sirius.  Dark Arts.  I was trained in them by the students of Voldemort himself, but I promise that the lessons were objective.  We don’t judge each other, remember?”

“But…”

“Shades of gray,” Harry pointed out.  “Just because I know the spells doesn’t mean that I have to use them.  And if I do use them, I don’t necessarily have to use them to maim or kill innocent people.  Most importantly, the more I know about the Dark Arts, the easier it is to defend against them, to anticipate them, to counter them.

“Riddle is my best friend, Sirius.  We spend at least an hour every night just sitting and talking about anything and everything.  He has never once attempted to so much as encourage me to be Dark.  He simply makes objective points and allows me to me make my own decisions.”

“He’s the one who told you that hundred people or the baby scenario, isn’t he?”

Harry nodded, “Yes.  He helped me to understand the shades of gray.  Through the experiences of these other incarnations of myself, I’ve learned _so much_ not only academically, but practically.  Flames is the reason I knew so much about you.  Riddle helped me to find the potion that I used to find you.  Slyther was the one that told me…”  He trailed off uncertainly.

“What?” Sirius asked warily.

Harry sighed.  “Do you know what a horcrux is?”

Sirius frowned, “It sounds vaguely familiar, but… no.”

“It’s considered one of the Blackest Arts.  There might be mention of it in your family library.  It is an ancient means to achieving immortality through shearing off a shard of your soul and storing it in an object outside of your body.  That way, if you die, your soul remains tied to this world through that other part.  Voldemort made several of them, which is why he’s still floating around.  In order for him to die, all of the horcruxes have to be destroyed first.”

Sirius’ eyes grew wide.  “Wait, Slyther told you this?  Isn’t he the one that’s Voldemort’s heir?  Why would he tell you how to kill Voldemort?”

“I told you, Sirius, we don’t judge each other.  Riddle and Slyther aren’t trying to convert the rest of us.  The only goal of us as a group is to keep as many Harry Potter’s alive as possible.  Yes, Slyther told me about the horcruxes.  He also told me that I am one.  All of us are.”

“WHAT?!  How?  Why?  When?” Sirius babbled hysterically.

“Sirius, calm down,” Harry entreated.  “It’s not dangerous to me.  I’ve already isolated it behind many potent layers of occlumentic shields.”

Sirius calmed down a little, but he still looked freaked.  “But… how?”

“The night he tried to kill me,” Harry brushed his fingers over his scar.  “He meant to make his last horcrux that night.  When the spell backfired, the horcrux went astray.  Instead of using me as the sacrifice, and then moving the shard into the prepared object, his own body became the sacrifice, and me the receptacle.  According to the research Slyther and his Voldemort did, it really shouldn’t have been possible.  It shouldn’t have worked.  The only reason that it did was because our magic was almost impossibly compatible _before_ that night.

“Don’t ask me for any more details, because that’s as far as my understanding into the subject of me becoming a horcrux goes.  My point, Sirius, is that in order to kill Voldemort, _I_ have to die.”

Sirius blinked, then went catatonic for several minutes.

* * *

 

Though it took several days for Sirius to adjust to the news about Refuge and the other Harry Potters, he eventually seemed to settle on resignation about the whole situation.  Harry found it surprisingly enjoyable to have someone in the real world who knew.  Most of their breakfast conversations revolved around what Harry had done in Refuge overnight, including amusing anecdotes and insights into the lives of the others.  Sirius seemed incredibly curious about the day-to-day lives of alternate forms of his godson.

After hearing what Harry had done with his Sirius, Claw and Ryff were both planning to try to round up their own godfathers and get the hell away from the Dursleys for good.  Sirius was delighted to know that two alternate versions of himself would soon get to know their godsons.

* * *

 

**12 July**

“Gentlemen,” Riddle said with a small, highly satisfied smile as he joined them in the meeting room.  “Today is a good day indeed.  I’ve managed to assimilate another Harry Potter.”

Immediately, everyone’s interested eyes turned toward the back of the room where, indeed, another bed had appeared.  As they got the hang of traveling to and from refuge, they no longer needed that representation of their sleeping place, but in the beginning it was necessary.

Harry noted curiously that the new kid was sleeping on a full size bed that looked wonderfully comfortable, tucked beneath clean, new-looking fluffy blankets.  He wondered how this one had grown up.

The Harry Potter on the bed twitched slightly, then started awake, sitting up with full awareness as soon as he’d noticed the unfamiliar surroundings.

Then the air next to the boy shimmered, and…

Every Harry Potter stood warily as, for the first time since they’d come to refuge, someone who was _not_ Harry Potter appeared in the room.

Harry was not the only one to gasp at the sight of him.  In fact, no one looked more surprised than the new kid, who blinked and muttered, “Tom?”

“Well, this is certainly interesting,” Riddle noted, stepping forward and taking charge as he always did.  Leading seemed to come to him as naturally as breathing.

“Tom” was a man who appeared anywhere from thirty to forty with ghostly white skin and blood red eyes.  He was wearing billowing black robes, and everything about him seemed to exude power and control.

“What is this place?” the man inquired, red eyes flicking from one face in the room to the next.

“An extra-dimensional realm,” Riddle offered.  “It should only be accessible to Harry Potters from various universes.  You are the first other to come here.”  He glanced between the two of them.  “I imagine that your being here is related to the horcrux, but I wonder if you are truly Lord Voldemort or just the shard of his soul embedded within your Harry Potter.”

Both the man and the new kid looked thoroughly shocked by that last sentence.

“You seem incredibly well informed,” Voldemort – _Voldemort! –_ said cautiously as he studied Riddle.

Riddle gave a shallow bow.  “Forgive me.  I fear my curiosity has subsumed my manners.  I am Harry Potter Riddle, known here simply as Riddle.”

Voldemort’s eyes narrowed at the surname.

“Yes,” Riddle said with a small smile.  “In my world, Voldemort is my father.  He adopted me after he killed my parents in 1981.”  And his smile didn’t diminish saying that sentence, which seemed to intrigue Voldemort.

“Wait, _that’s_ Voldemort?” Flames asked as he stepped forward.

The man in question turned his gaze on the Gryffindor with mild disdain.

“You’re being rude, Flames,” Slyther said as he stepped up next to Riddle.  “Lord Voldemort, it is a pleasure to meet you.  I am called Slyther here, and am Lord Voldemort’s heir in my world.  I think you are likely to find us all looking at you strangely for the fact that you are so similar to the man we all know on some level, but yet you are so obviously _not_ him.”

“What do you mean?” Riddle asked curiously.

Slyther blinked at him, then nodded.  “Of course.  You’re not a horcrux, so you don’t understand.  We can _feel_ Voldemort – our own Voldemorts, I mean.”

“Like a tickle in the back of my mind,” Snape nodded expressionlessly.

“A constant awareness,” John agreed.

“I wonder if that’s stronger in the worlds where Voldemort’s been returned to a body already.  I haven’t really noticed it,” Harry admitted.

Riddle was looking very intrigued by all of this.

Slyther nodded.  “It’s probably not as strong,” he agreed, “but I’m sure it’s there.  I could probably teach you to locate it.”

“I’d appreciate that,” Harry nodded.  He hadn’t yet decided what to do about the Voldemort in his world – namely to fight him, join him, or seek neutrality like Snape and John – but he couldn’t see a downside to having a greater awareness of the man.  It could possibly save his life, but at the very least, it could help him to understand the man better.

“I don’t _want_ to feel him,” Flames said with disgust.

Harry rolled his eyes.  “Well, if you manage to kill him, Flames, do let me know if you survive with your sanity intact, hm?  I think we’re all curious as to how that’ll work.”

Raven shifted uncomfortably, but didn’t comment.  He still planned to kill his Voldemort, too.

“This is really strange,” the new kid noted.

“Yes, I was thinking something similar,” Voldemort nodded.

“Do you think I’m dreaming?” he asked almost hopefully.

Voldemort chuckled, “I do not believe so.  I’ve lived in your mind for a long time, and I don’t imagine you’re capable of conjuring… this.”

Riddle’s smile broadened at that.  “Please, you are both welcome to join us.  I’ll explain exactly where we are and how we’ve come to be here, and then we’ll explain to you a bit about each of us.”

The new kid glanced at Voldemort as though asking his opinion, and Voldemort nodded.

They all moved back to the ring of chairs, which was growing into a rather large circle by now, with two new chairs in attendance.  Harry sat between Slyther and John as always.

Riddle then succinctly explained how Refuge had come about, his purpose behind it, and a bit about what they used it for.  Then he gave a general background on each of them before offering the new kid a chance to tell his own story.

The new kid sighed, looking slightly overwhelmed.  “Okay.  Well, I don’t really have a nickname…”

“They can call you Hadrian,” Tom offered.  “It means ‘Dark’.”

The new Harry Potter nodded agreeably.  “All right.  Hadrian it is.  Well…  Where to start…”

“After my body was destroyed,” Tom began for him.  “I drifted for about a year, searching for the means with which to return myself to solvency.  Unfortunately, I found myself growing progressively weaker.  It became increasingly difficult to remember who and what I was, much less discover a way to return to the physical world.

“I was living primarily on instinct when I found Hadrian.  I was following a formless pull that I was unable to identify until I had reached it.  Within Hadrian, I took refuge with the shard of my soul residing there.  By drawing gently on his magical core and the stabilizing influence of another piece of my soul, I was able to strengthen myself and return to full coherency.  I was intrigued to find that I could speak to young Hadrian directly through his mind.  I didn’t remain with him constantly, but I always returned within a couple weeks as my strength waned when I was not with him.”

“Tom was my first friend,” Hadrian picked it up.  “I was sent to live with the Dursleys.  I gather by how many others of you lived with them that you understand what they’re like.  Tom kept me sane.  Honestly, I can’t even imagine how some of you survived alone.  Anyway, I quickly learned to keep Tom a secret, and he taught me to begin controlling my magical core, among other things.  Actually, having him with me helped my magical core to mature more quickly and grow far stronger than it otherwise could have.  The magic he constantly drew to help sustain him caused my magic to begin maturing far sooner than it does with most magical children who rarely touch their power before beginning school.

“Anyway, when I was seven, I accidentally apparated to get away from Dudley and his friends.  That’s when Tom first realized how powerful I was.  He began teaching me more advanced magicks after that, including proper apparation.  By the time I was eight, I’d managed to cast a wandless Imperius.  I used that on each of the Dursleys then and instructed them simply to always do exactly as I told them to do and never notice that they did.  Life was pretty good after that.”

Most of the other Harry’s grinned at that idea, particularly John and even Snape seemed to appreciate the idea.  Harry shook his head in silent wonder.  That sounded _awesome_.  Flames, of course, looked horrified.  Raven looked only mildly disapproving.  Neither of them had had to grow up with the Dursleys.

“By the time my Hogwarts letter came, Tom had already told me all about Hogwarts, so I was expecting it.  On his advice, I made friends with Draco Malfoy before school even started.  I was, of course, sorted into Slytherin.  The Sorting Hat was quite hilariously amazed at our symbiotic relationship,” he recalled with a grin.  “Tom spent that year between my head and Quirrell’s.  At the end of the year, I helped Quirrell to get the Philosopher’s Stone. 

“The summer after first year, I abducted Wormtail from the Weasleys’ since he had Tom’s wand.  With him and Quirrell helping, we got Tom back into a body that summer, and I am officially now his heir,” he said with pride that made Riddle and Slyther smile understandingly.  “Despite the fact that he no longer lives in my mind, we can communicate telepathically, evidently over any distance.  We can also slip into each other’s minds and look out through each other’s eyes.  We spend most nights meeting in our mindscapes, which is what we were doing when we ended up here.”

“I wonder if I could do that,” Slyther frowned hopefully.  “I know that my Voldemort would love to come here and meet everyone.”

“My father would like to come as well,” Riddle nodded, “though we haven’t yet worked out exactly how to attach the horcrux to me safely.”

“We definitely need to explore the connection more,” Harry noted.  “I’m not exactly on speaking terms with my Voldemort yet, and I don’t think he’s returned to a body, but I definitely want to know if it’s possible for him to enter my mind.”

Slyther nodded his agreement.

“Please, continue,” Riddle bade Hadrian.

The new boy dipped his head agreeably and continued speaking.  “Well, I spent the last year training with Tom in our mindscape and sneaking out of Hogwarts to attend meetings with the Death Eaters.  Tom’s still working on setting the proper scene for his return, so not too much happened last year besides bringing all the Death Eaters back and recruiting a few new ones.”

“Did Sirius Black escape Azkaban in your world?” Harry wondered.

Hadrian’s brow rose, “No, he hasn’t.  I take it that he did in your world?”

“Several of our worlds,” Harry nodded.  “All except for Riddle’s and Slyther’s, I think.  Of course, he broke out because Wormtail was stupid enough to get himself pictured in the Daily Prophet and Sirius happened to see it.  I don’t suppose that would have happened in your world.  I’ve just recently met him in my world, but he is insanely loyal to me.  Once I get my hands on Wormtail and get Sirius exonerated, he’s going to take custody of me so I don’t have to worry about Dumbledore or the Ministry trying to control me.”

Tom leaned back in his chair slightly and took on a speculative posture.  “Perhaps we should liberate him when we raid Azkaban,” he said with a thoughtful look at Hadrian.

“If he’s that loyal to me, he could be a valuable asset,” Hadrian agreed.  “And if he could be exonerated, he could be useful against Dumbledore _and_ the Ministry.”

“I’ll factor it into the plans,” Tom decided with a nod.

Harry watched the two of them interacting and felt the sharp burn of jealousy stab through him again.  It had been a while since he’d felt that, having gotten accustomed to Riddle and his father some time ago.  Hadrian and Tom weren’t quite the father/son relationship that Riddle had with the man who’d raised him, but they clearly understood each other very well.  The way they seemed able to communicate so much with just a glance was disturbingly reminiscent of the Weasley twins.

It made Harry feel more alone than ever.  Sure, he had Sirius now, who was entertaining to be around, and loyal enough to accept Harry’s opinions even when they clashed with what Sirius had grown up believing.  And he had Hermione and Colin, who were good company.  They both provided hours of entertaining arguments about history and politics, but…

But even his godfather was nothing more than a friend.  What he saw between Tom and Hadrian was _family_.  They knew each other almost as well as they knew themselves.  They understood each other.  They didn’t judge each other and they seemed to think similarly.

For the millionth time in the last year, Harry found himself wondering what it might be like if he ever got the chance to know his Voldemort.  Could he ever form a connection even a fraction so strong?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's all folks. At least, for now.

**Author's Note:**

> As with all my work in fan fiction, I welcome anyone who is inspired by it to use my concepts and plot in any manner that strikes your fancy. I demand only that you give me credit where it is due. Beyond that, I encourage anyone interested to make my ideas your own. You can pick up from where I left off, particularly if a work is unfinished, or alter the plot so that it better suits you, or just pick and choose a few bits that inspired you.
> 
> If you do utilize any of my plots or concepts, I do request that you send me a brief message and let me know where I may find your story because I would love to read it.
> 
> I hope you've enjoyed and I do appreciate every comment.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [The Many Lives of Harry Potter](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7603003) by [koijuly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/koijuly/pseuds/koijuly)




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